LED ASTRAY

_By_ OCTAVE FEUILLET, _author of "Romance of aPoor Young Man, " etc. _

[Illustration]

NEW YORK AND LONDON

STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1891

By STREET & SMITH

LED ASTRAY. 

CHAPTER I. 

A GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION. 

GEORGE L---- to PAUL B. , PARIS. 

ROZEL, _15th September_. 

It's nine o'clock in the evening, my dear friend, and you have justarrived from Germany. They hand you my letter, the post-mark of whichinforms you at once that I am absent from Paris. You indulge in a gestureof annoyance, and call me a vagabond. Nevertheless, you settle down inyour best arm-chair, you open my letter, and you hear that I have been forthe past five days domesticated in a flour-mill in Lower Normandy. In aflour-mill! What the duse can he be doing in a mill? A wrinkle appears onyour forehead, your eyebrows are drawn together; you lay down my letterfor a moment; you attempt to penetrate this mystery by the unaided powerof your imagination. Suddenly a playful expression beams upon yourcountenance; your mouth expresses the irony of a wise man tempered by theindulgence of a friend; you have caught a glimpse, through anopera-comique cloud, of a miller's pretty wife with powdered hair, a waistall trimmed with gay ribbons, a light and short skirt, and stockings withgilded clocks; in short, one of those fair young millers' wives whoseheart goes pit-a-pat with hautboy accompaniment. But the graces who areever sporting in your mind sometimes lead it astray; my fair miller is asmuch like the creature of your imagination as I am like a youthful Colin;her head is adorned with a towering cotton night-cap to which the thickestpossible coating of flour fails to restore its primitive color; she wearsa coarse woolen petticoat which would abrade the hide of an elephant; inshort, it frequently happens to me to confound the miller's wife with themiller himself, after which it is sufficient to add that I am not theleast curious to know whether or not her heart goes pit-a-pat. The truthis, that, not knowing how to kill time in your absence, and having noreason to expect you to return before another month; (it's your ownfault!), I solicited a mission. The council-general of the department of---- had lately, and quite opportunely, expressed officially the wish thata certain ruined abbey, called Rozel Abbey, should be classed amonghistorical monuments. I have been commissioned to investigate closely thecandidate's titles. I hastened with all possible speed to the chief townof this artistic department, where I effected my entrance with theimportant gravity of a man who holds within his hands the life or thedeath of a monument dear to the country. I made some inquiries at thehotel; great was my mortification when I discovered that no one seemed tosuspect that such a thing as Rozel Abbey existed within a circuit of ahundred leagues. I called at the prefecture while still laboring under theeffect of this disappointment; the prefect, Valton, whom you know verywell, received me with his usual affability; but to the questions Iaddressed him on the subject of the condition of the ruins which thecouncil seemed so desirous of preserving for the admiration of itsconstituents, he replied with an absent smile, that his wife, who hadvisited these ruins on the occasion of an excursion into the country, while she was sojourning on the sea shore, could tell me a great deal moreabout the ruins than he possibly could himself. 

He invited me to dinner, and in the evening, Madame Valton, after theusual struggles of expiring modesty, showed me, in her album, someviews of the famous ruins sketched with considerable taste. She becamemildly excited while speaking to me of these venerable remains, situated, if she is to be believed, in the midst of an enchanting site, and, aboveall, particularly well suited for picnics and country excursions. Abeseeching and corrupting look terminated her harangue. It seemsevident to me that this worthy lady is the only person in the departmentwho takes any real interest in that poor old abbey, and that theconscript fathers of the general council have passed their resolutionauthorizing an investigation out of pure gallantry. It is impossible forme, however, not to concur in their opinion; the abbey has beautifuleyes; she deserves to be classed--she shall be classed. 

My decision was therefore settled, from that moment, but it was stillnecessary to write it down and back it with some documentary evidence. Unfortunately, the local archives and libraries do not abound intraditions relative to my subject; after two days of conscientiousrummaging, I had collected but a few rare and insignificant documents, which may be summed up in these two lines; "Rozel Abbey, in Rozeltownship, was inhabited from time immemorial by monks, who left it when itfell in ruins. "

That is why I resolved to go, without further delay, and ask their secretof these mysterious ruins, and to multiply, if need be, the artifices ofmy pencil, to make up for the compulsory conciseness of my pen. I lefton Wednesday morning for the town of Vitry, which is only two or threeleagues distant from the abbey. A Norman coach, complemented witha Norman coachman, jogged me about all day, like an indolent monarch, along the Norman hedges. When night came, I had traveled twelve milesand my coachman had taken twelve meals. 

The country is fine, though of a character somewhat uniformly rustic. Under everlasting groves is displayed an opulent and monotonous verdure, in the thickness of which contented-looking oxen ruminate. I canunderstand my coachman's twelve meals; the idea of eating must occurfrequently and almost exclusively to the imagination of any man who spendshis life in the midst of this rich nature, the very grass of which givesan appetite. 

Toward evening, however, the aspect of the landscape changed; we entered arolling prairie, quite low, marshy, bare as a Russian steppe, andextending on both sides of the road; the sound of the wheels on thecauseway assumed a hollow and vibrating sonority; dark-colored reeds andtall, unhealthy-looking grass covered, as far as the eye could reach, theblackish surface of the marsh. I noticed in the distance, through thedeepening twilight, and behind a cloud of rain, two or three horsemenrunning at full speed, and as if demented, through these boundless spaces;they disappeared at intervals in the depressions of the meadows, andsuddenly came to sight again, still galloping with the same frenzy. Icould not imagine toward what imaginary goal these equestrian phantomswere thus madly rushing. I took good care not to inquire; mystery is asweet and sacred thing. 

The next morning, I started for the abbey, taking with me in my cabrioleta tall young peasant who had yellow hair, like Ceres. He was a farm-boywho had lived since his birth within a rod of my monument; he had heard mein the morning asking for information in the court-yard of the inn, andhad obligingly volunteered to show me the way to the ruins, which were thefirst thing he had seen on coming into the world. I had no need whateverof a guide; I accepted, nevertheless, the fellow's offer, his officiouschattering seeming to promise a well-sustained conversation, in the courseof which I hoped to detect some interesting legend; but as soon as he hadtaken his seat by my side, the rascal became dumb; my questions seemedeven, I know not why, to inspire him with a deep mistrust, almost akin toanger. I had to deal with the genius of the ruins, the faithful guardianof their treasures. On the other hand, I had the gratification of takinghim home in my carriage; it was apparently all he wished, and he had everyreason to be satisfied with my accommodating spirit. 

After landing this agreeable companion at his own door, it becamenecessary for me to alight also; a rocky path, or rather a rude flight ofstone steps, winding down the side of a steep declivity, led me to thebottom of a narrow valley which spreads and stretches between a doublechain of high wooded hills. A small river flows lazily through it underthe shade of alder-bushes, dividing two strips of meadows as fine andvelvety as the lawns of a park; it is crossed over by an old bridge with asingle arch, which reflects in the placid water the outlines of itsgraceful ogive. On the right, the hills stand close together in the formof a circus, and seemed to join their verdure-clad curves; on the left, they spread out until they become merged in the deep and somber masses ofa vast forest. The valley is thus closed on all sides, and offers apicture of which the calm, the freshness, and the isolation penetrate thesoul. 

The ruins of the abbey stand with their back against the forest. Whatremains of the abbey proper is not a great deal. At the entrance of thecourt-yard, a monumental gateway; a wing of the building, dating from thetwelfth century, in which dwell the family of the miller of whom I am theguest; the chapter-hall, remarkable for some elegant arches and a fewremnants of mural painting; finally, two or three cells, one of whichseems to have been used for the purposes of correction, if I may judgefrom the solidity of the door and the strength of the bolts. The rest hasbeen torn down, and may be found in fragments among the cottages of theneighborhood. The church, which has almost the proportions of a cathedral, is finely preserved, and produces a marvelous effect. The portal and theapse have alone disappeared; the whole interior architecture, the copings, the tall columns, are intact and as if built yesterday. There, it seems, that an artist must have presided over the work of destruction; a masterlystroke of the pick-ax has opened at the two extremities of the church, where stood the portal and where stood the altar, two gigantic bays, sothat, from the threshold of the edifice, the eye plunges into the forestbeyond as through a deep triumphal arch. In this solitary spot the effectis unexpected and solemn. I was delighted with it. "Monsieur, " I said tothe miller, who, since my arrival, had been watching my every step from adistance with that fierce mistrust which is a peculiarity of this part ofthe country, "I have been requested to examine and to sketch these ruins. That work will require several days; could you not spare me a daily tripfrom the town to the abbey and back, by furnishing me with suchaccommodations as you can, for a week or two?"

The miller, a thorough Norman, examined me from head to foot withoutanswering, like a man who knows that silence is of gold; he measured me, he gauged me, he weighed me, and finally, opening his flour-coated lips, he called his wife. The latter appeared at once upon the threshold of thechapter-hall, converted into a cow-pen, and I had to repeat my request toher. She examined me in her turn, but not at such great length as herhusband, and, with the superior scent of her sex, her conclusion was, as Ihad the right to expect, that of the _præses_ in the _Malade Imaginaire_:"_Dignus es intrare_. " The miller, who saw what turn things were taking, lifted his cap and treated me to a smile. I must add that these excellentpeople, once the ice was broken, tried in every way to compensate me, by athousand eager attentions, for the excessive caution of their reception. They wished to give up to me their own room, adorned with the Adventuresof Telemachus, but I preferred--as Mentor would have done--a cell ofaustere nudity, of which the window, with small, lozenge-shaped panes, opens on the ruined portal of the church and the horizon of the forest. 

Had I been a few years younger, I would have enjoyed keenly this poeticinstallation; but I am turning gray, friend Paul, or at least I fear so, though I try still to attribute to a mere effect of light the doubtfulshades that dot my beard under the rays of the noon-day sun. Nevertheless, if my reverie has changed its object, it still lasts, and still has itscharms for me. My poetic feeling has become modified and, I think, moreelevated. The image of a woman is no longer the indispensable element ofmy dreams; my heart, peaceful now, and striving to become still more so, is gradually withdrawing from the field of my mind's labors. I cannot, Iconfess, find enough pleasure in the pure and dry meditations of theintellect; my imagination must speak first and set my brain in motion, forI was born romantic, and romantic I shall die; and all that can be askedof me, all I can obtain of myself, at an age when propriety alreadycommands gravity, is to build romances without love. 

Up to this time, ennui has spared me in my solitude. Shall I confess toyou that I even experience in it a singular feeling of contentment? Itseems as though I were a thousand leagues away from the things of theworld, and that there is a sort of truce and respite in the miserableroutine of my existence, at once so agitated and so commonplace. I relishmy complete independence with the naïve joy of a twelve-year-old RobinsonCrusoe. I sketch when I feel like it; the rest of the time, I walk hereand there at random, being careful only never to go beyond the bounds ofthe sacred valley. I sit down upon the parapet of the bridge, and I watchthe running water; I go on voyages of discovery among the ruins; I diveinto the underground vaults; I scale the shattered steps of the belfry, and being unable to come down again the same way, I remain astride agargoyle, cutting a rather sorry figure, until the miller brings me aladder. I wander at night through the forest, and I see deer running by inthe moonlight. All these things have a soothing effect on my mind, andproduce the effect of child's dream in middle age. 

Your letter dated from Cologne, and which was forwarded to me hereaccording to my instructions, has alone disturbed my beatitude. I consolemyself with some difficulty for having left Paris almost on the eve ofyour return. May Heaven confound your whims and your want of decision! AllI can do now, is to hurry my work; but where shall I find the historicaldocuments I still need? I am seriously anxious to save these ruins. Thereis here a rare landscape, a valuable picture, which it would be sheervandalism to allow to perish. 

And then, I admire the old monks! I wish to offer up to their departedshades this homage of my sympathy. Yes, had I lived some thousand yearsago, I would certainly have sought among them the repose of the cloisterwhile waiting for the peace of heaven. What existence could have suited mebetter? Free from the cares of this world, and assured of the other, freefrom any agitations of the heart or the mind, I would have placidlywritten simple legends which I would have been credulous enough tobelieve; I would have unraveled with intense curiosity some unknownmanuscripts, and discovered with tears of joy the Iliad or the Æneid; Iwould have sketched imaginary cathedrals; I would have heatedalembics--and perhaps have invented gunpowder; which is by no means thebest thing I might have done. 

Come! 'tis midnight; brother, we must sleep!

_Postscriptum. _--There are ghosts! I was closing this letter, my dearfriend, in the midst of a solemn silence, when suddenly my ears werefilled with mysterious and confused sounds that seemed to come fromthe outside, and among which I thought I could distinguish the buzzingmurmur of a large crowd. I approached, quite surprised, the window of mycell, and I could not exactly tell you the nature of the emotion I felt ondiscovering the ruins of the church illuminated with a resplendent blaze;the vast portal and the yawning ogives cast floods of light far as thedistant woods. It was not, it could not be, an accidental conflagration. Besides, I could see, through the stone trefoils, shadows of superhumansize flitting through the nave, apparently performing, with a sort ofrhythm, some mysterious ceremony. I threw my window abruptly open;at the same instant, a loud blast broke forth in the ruins, and rang againthrough all the echoes of the valley; after which, I saw issuing from thechurch a double file of horsemen bearing torches and blowing horns, somedressed in red, others draped in black, with plumes waving over theirheads. This strange procession followed, still in the same order, amid thesame dazzling light and the same clangor of trumpets, the shaded path thatskirts the edge of the meadows. Having reached the little bridge, itstopped; I saw the torches rise, wave, and cast showers of sparks; thehorns sounded a weird and prolonged blast; then suddenly every lightdisappeared, every noise ceased, and the valley was again wrapped in thedarkness and the deep silence of the night. That is what I saw and heard. You who have just arrived from Germany, did you meet the Black Huntsman?No? Hang yourself, then!

CHAPTER II. 

HUNTING A WILD MAN. 

_16th September. _

The forest which once formed part of the demesnes of the abbey, nowbelongs to a wealthy landed proprietor of the district, the Marquis deMalouet, a lineal descendant of Nimrod, whose chateau seems to be thesocial center of the district. There are almost daily at this season grandhunts in the forest; yesterday, the party ended with a supper on thegrass, and afterward a ride home by torch-light. I felt very much disposedto strangle the honest miller, who gave me this morning, in vulgarlanguage, this explanation of my midnight ballad. 

There is the world, then, invading with all its pomp my beloved solitude. I curse it, Paul, with all the bitterness of my heart. I became indebtedto it, last night, it is true, for a fantastic apparition that bothcharmed and delighted me; but I am also indebted to it to-day for aridiculous adventure which I am the only one not to laugh at, for I wasits unlucky hero. 

I was but little disposed to work this morning; I went on sketching, however, until noon, but had to give it up then; my head was heavy, I feltdull and disagreeable, I had a vague presentiment of something fatal inthe air. I returned for a moment to the mill to get rid of my traps; Iquarreled, to her surprise and grief, with the miller's wife, on thesubject of I know not what cruelly indigenous mess she had served me forbreakfast; I scolded the good woman's two children because they weretouching my pencils; finally, I administered a vigorous kick to thehouse-dog, accompanied with the celebrated formula: "Judge whether you haddone anything to me!"

Rather dissatisfied with myself, as you may imagine, after these threemean little tricks, I directed my steps toward the forest, in order tohide as much as possible from the light of the day. I walked about fornearly an hour without being able to shake off the prophetic melancholythat oppressed me. Perceiving at last, on the edge of one of the avenuesthat traverse the forest, and under the dense shade of some beech-trees, athick bed of moss, I stretched myself upon it, together with my remorse, and it was not long before I fell into a sound sleep. Mon Dieu! why was itnot the sleep of death?

I have no idea how long I had been asleep, when I was suddenly awakened bya certain concussion of the soil in my immediate vicinity; I jumpedabruptly to my feet, and I saw, within five steps of me, on the road, ayoung lady on horseback. My unexpected apparition had somewhat frightenedthe horse, who had shied with some violence. The fair equestrian, who hadnot yet noticed me, was talking to him and trying to quiet him. Sheappeared to be pretty, slender, elegant. I caught a rapid glimpse of blondhair, eyebrows of a darker shade, keen eyes, a bold expression ofcountenance, and a felt hat with blue feathers, set over one ear in rathertoo rakish a style. For the better understanding of what is about tofollow, you should know that I was attired in a tourist's blouse stainedwith red ochre; besides, I must have had that haggard look and startledexpression which impart to one rudely snatched from sleep a countenance atonce comical and alarming. Add to all this, my hair in utter disorder, mybeard strewn with dead leaves, and you will have no difficulty inunderstanding the terror that suddenly overpowered the young huntress atthe first glance she cast upon me; she uttered a feeble cry, and wheelingher horse around, she fled at full gallop. 

It was impossible for me to mistake the nature of the impression I hadjust produced; there was nothing flattering about it. However, I amthirty-five years of age, and the more or less kindly glance of a woman isno longer sufficient to disturb the serenity of my soul. I followed with asmiling look the flying Amazon. At the extremity of the avenue in which Ihad just failed to make her conquest, she turned abruptly to the left, togo and take a parallel road. I only had to cross the adjoining thicket tosee her overtake a cavalcade composed of ten or twelve persons, who seemedto be waiting for her, and to whom she shouted from a distance, in abroken voice:

"Gentlemen! gentlemen! a wild man! there is a wild man in the forest!"

My interest being highly excited by this beginning, I settle myselfcomfortably behind a thick bush, with eye and ear equally attentive. Theycrowd around the lady; it is supposed at first that she is jesting, buther emotion is too serious to have been causeless. She saw, distinctlysaw, not exactly a savage, perhaps, but a man in rags, whose tatteredblouse seemed covered with blood, whose face, hands, and whole person wererepulsively filthy, whose beard was frightful, and whose eyes halfprotruded from their sockets; in short, an individual, by the side of whomthe most atrocious of Salvator Rosa's brigands would be as one ofWatteau's shepherds. Never did a man's vanity enjoy such a treat! Thischarming person added that I had threatened her, and that I had jumped ather horse's bridle like the specter of the forest of Mans. [A]

The response to this marvelous story is a general and enthusiastic shout:

"Let us chase him! let us surround him! let us track him! hip, hip, hurrah!"--whereupon the whole cavalry force starts off at a gallop in thedirection given by the amiable story teller. 

I had, to all appearances, but to remain quietly ensconced in myhiding-place in order to completely foil the hunters who were going insearch of me in the avenue where I had met the beautiful Amazon. Unfortunately, I had the unlucky idea, for greater safety, of making myway into the opposite thicket. As I was cautiously crossing the openspace, a wild shout of joy informs me that I have been discovered; at thesame time, I see the whole squadron wheeling about and coming down upon melike a torrent. There remained but one reasonable course for me to pursue;it was to stop, to affect the surprise of a quiet stroller disturbed inhis walk, and to disconcert my assailants by an attitude at once simpleand dignified; but, seized with a foolish shame which it is easier toconceive than to explain--convinced, moreover, that a vigorous effortwould be sufficient to rid me of this importunate pursuit and to spare methe annoyance of an explanation--I commit the error--the ever deplorableerror--of hurrying on faster, or rather, to be frank with you, of runningaway as fast as my legs would carry me. I cross the road like a hare, Ipenetrate into the thicket, greeted on my passage with a volley of joyousclamors. From that moment my fate was sealed; all honorable explanationbecame impossible for me; I had ostensibly accepted the struggle with itsmost extreme chances. 

However, I still possessed a certain presence of mind, and while tearingfuriously through the brambles, I soothed myself with comfortingreflections. Once separated from my persecutors by the whole depth of athicket inaccessible to cavalry, it would be an easy matter to gain asufficient advance upon them to be able to laugh at their fruitlesssearch. This last illusion vanished when, on reaching the limit of thecovered space, I discovered that the cursed troop had divided into twosquads, who were both waiting for me at the outlet. At the sight of me, afresh storm of shouts and laughter broke forth, and the hunting-hornssounded in all directions. I became dizzy; I felt the forest whirlingaround me; I rushed into the first path that offered itself to me, and myflight assumed the character of a hopeless rout. 

The implacable legion of hunters and huntresses did not fail to start onmy heels with renewed ardor and stupid mirth. I still recognized at theirhead the lady with the waving blue plume, who distinguished herself by herpeculiar animosity, and upon whom I invoked with all my heart the mostserious accidents to which equestrianism may be subject. It was she whoencouraged her odious accomplices, when I had succeeded for a moment ineluding the pursuit; she discovered me with infernal keen-sightedness, pointed me out with the tip of her whip, and broke into a barbarous laughwhenever she saw me resume my race through the bushes, blowing, panting, desperate, absurd. I ran thus during a space of time of which I am unableto form any estimate, accomplishing unprecedented feats of gymnastics, tearing through the thorny brambles, sinking into the miry spots, leapingover the ditches, bounding upon my feet with the elasticity of a panther, galloping to the devil, without reason, without object, and without anyother hope but that of seeing the earth open beneath my feet. 

At last, and surely by chance--for I had long since lost all topographicalnotions--I discovered the ruins just ahead of me; with a last effort, Icleared the open space that separates them from the forest; I ran throughthe church as if I had been excommunicated, and I arrived panting beforethe door of the mill. The miller and his wife were standing on thethreshold, attracted, doubtless, by the noise of the cavalcade that wasfollowing close on my heels; they looked at me with an expression ofstupor; I tried in vain to find a few words of explanation to cast to themas I ran by, and after incredible efforts of intelligence, I was only ableto murmur in a silly tone: "If any one asks for me, say I am not in!" ThenI cleared in three jumps the stairs leading to my cell, and I sank upon mybed in a state of complete prostration. 

In the meantime, Paul, the hunting-party were crowding tumultuously intothe court-yard of the abbey; I could hear the stamping of the horses'feet, the voices of the riders, and even the sound of their boots on theflagging, which proved that some of them had alighted and were threateningme with a last assault. I started up with a gesture of rage, and I glancedat my pistols. Fortunately, after a few minutes' conversation with themiller, the hunters withdrew, not without giving me to understand that, ifthey had formed a better opinion of my character, they went away with amost amusing idea of the eccentricity of my disposition. 

Such is, my dear friend, a faithful historical account of that unluckyday, during which I covered myself frankly, and from head to foot, with aspecies of humiliation to which any Frenchman would prefer that of crime. I have, at this moment, the satisfaction of knowing that I am in aneighboring chateau, in the midst of a gathering of brilliant men andlovely young women, an inexhaustible subject for jokes. I feel, moreover, since my flank movement (as it is customary in war to call precipitateretreats), that I have lost something of my dignity in my own eyes, and Icannot conceal to myself, besides, that I am far from enjoying the sameconsideration on the part of my rustic hosts. 

In presence of a situation so seriously compromised, it became necessaryto hold council; after a brief deliberation, I rejected far, far from me, as puerile and pusillanimous, the project suggested to me by my vanity atbay, that of giving up my lodgings, and even of leaving the districtentirely. I made up my mind to pursue philosophically the course of mylabors and my pleasures, to show a soul superior to circumstances, and inshort, to give to the Amazons, the centaurs, and the millers the finespectacle of the wise man in adversity. 

[A] Charles VI. , King of France, became demented in consequenceof his horse being stopped, during a hunt in the forest of Mans, by whatseemed to him a supernatural being. --(TRANS. )

CHAPTER III. 

THE MARQUIS DE MALOUET. 

MALOUET, _20th September_. 

I have just received your letter. You belong to the true breed ofMonomotapa friends, Paul. But what puerility! And such is the case of yoursudden return! A trifle, a silly nightmare which for two successive nightscaused you to hear the sound of my voice calling on you for help! Ah!bitter fruits of the wretched German cuisine! Really, Paul, you arefoolish! And yet, you tell me things that move me to tears. I cannotanswer you as I would like to. My heart is tender, but my speech is dry. I have never been able to tell any one, "I love you!" There is a jealousfiend who checks on my lips every word of affection, and imparts to it atone of irony. But, thank God, you know me!

It seems that I make you laugh while you make me weep! Well, I am glad ofit. Yes, my noble adventure in the forest has had a sequel, and a sequelwith which I might very well have dispensed. All the misfortunes whichyou felt were threatening me have actually happened to me; rest easy, therefore. 

The day following this fatal day, I began by re-conquering the esteemof my hosts at the mill, by relating to them good-naturedly the mostpiquant episodes of my famous race. I saw them beaming as they heard thenarrative; the woman in particular was writhing in atrocious convulsions, and with formidable stretches of her jaws. I have never seen anything sohideous, in all my life, as this coarse, cowherd's joy!

As a testimonial of the complete restoration of his sympathy, the millerasked me if I was fond of hunting, took down from a hook over hismantelpiece a long, rusty tube, that made me think of Leather Stocking'srifle, and laid it into my hands, while boasting of the murderousqualities of that instrument. I acknowledged his kindness with an outwardappearance of lively satisfaction, never having had the heart to undeceivepeople who think they are doing something to please me, and I started forthe woods that cover the hill-sides, carrying like a lance that venerableweapon, which seemed indeed to me of the most dangerous kind. I went totake a seat on the heather, and I carefully laid down the long gun by me;then I amused myself driving away, by throwing stones at them, the youngrabbits that ventured imprudently in the vicinity of an engine of war forthe effects of which I could not be responsible. Thanks to theseprecautions, for over an hour that this hunt lasted, no accident happenedeither to the game or to myself. 

To speak candidly, I was rather glad to allow the hour to pass when thehunting-party from the chateau are in the habit of taking the field, notcaring very much, through a remnant of vain glory, to find myself on theirpassage that day. Toward two o'clock in the afternoon, I left my seat ofmint and wild thyme, satisfied that I had henceforth no unpleasantencounter to apprehend. I handed the blunderbuss to the miller, who seemedsomewhat surprised to see me empty-handed, and more so, probably, to seeme alive still. I went to take a stand opposite the portal, and Iundertook to finish a general view of the ruin, a water-color, which, Ifeel, is certain to secure the approbation of the minister. 

I was deeply absorbed in my work, when I suddenly fancied I could hearmore distinctly than usual that sound of running horses which, since mymisadventure, was forever haunting my ears. I turned around sharply, and Idiscovered the enemy within two hundred paces of me. This time, he wasattired in plain clothes, being apparently equipped for an ordinary ride;he had obtained, since the previous day, several recruits of both sexes, and now really formed an imposing body. Though long prepared for such anoccurrence, I could not help feeling a certain discomfort, and I secretlycursed those indefatigable idlers. Nevertheless, the thought of retreatingnever occurred to me; I had lost all taste for flight for the rest of mydays. 

As the cavalcade drew nearer, I could hear smothered laughter andwhisperings, the subject of which was but too evident to me. I mustconfess that a spark of anger was beginning to burn in my heart, and whilegoing on with my work with an appearance of unabated interest, andindulging in admiring motions of the head before my water-color, I waslending to the scene going on behind me a somber and vigilant attention. However, the first intention of the party seemed to be to spare mymisfortune; instead of following the path by the side of which I wasestablished, and which was the shortest way to the ruins, they turnedaside toward the right, and filed by in silence. One alone among them, falling out of the main group, came rapidly in my direction, and stoppedwithin ten steps of my studio; though my face was bent over my drawing, Ifelt, by that strange intuition which every one knows, a human look fixedupon me. I raised my eyes with an air of indifference, dropping them againalmost immediately; that rapid gesture had been sufficient to enable me torecognize in that indiscreet observer the young lady with the bluefeathers, the original cause of all my mishaps. She was there, boldlyseated on her horse, her chin raised, her eyes half closed, examining mefrom head to foot with admirable insolence. I had thought it best atfirst, out of respect for her sex, to abandon myself without resistance toher impertinent curiosity; but after a few seconds, as she manifested nointention of putting an end to her proceedings, I lost patience, andraising my head more openly, I fixed my eyes upon her with polite gravity, but persistent steadiness. She blushed; seeing which, I bowed. Shereturned me a slight inclination of the head, and moving off at a canter, she disappeared under the vault of the old church. I thus remained masterof the field, keenly relishing the triumph of fascination I had justobtained over that little person, whom there certainly was considerablemerit in putting out of countenance. 

The ride through the forest lasted some twenty minutes, and I soon beheldthe brilliant fantasia debouching pell-mell from the portal. I feignedagain a profound abstraction; but this time again, one of the riders leftthe company and advanced toward me; he was a man of tall stature, who worea blue frock-coat, buttoned up to his chin, in military style. He wasmarching so straight upon my little establishment, that I could not helpsupposing he intended passing right over it for the amusement of theladies. I was therefore watching him with a furtive but wide-awake glance, when I had the satisfaction of seeing him stop within three steps of mycamp-stool, and removing his hat. 

"Monsieur, " he said, in a full and frank tone of voice, "will you permitme to look at your drawing?"

I returned his salutation, nodded in token of acquiescence, and went onwith my work. After a moment of silent contemplation, the unknownequestrian, apparently yielding to the violence of his impressions, allowed a few laudatory epithets to escape him; then, resuming his directallocution:

"Monsieur, " he said, "allow me to return thanks to your talent; we shallbe indebted to it, I feel quite sure, for the preservation of these ruins, which are the ornament of our district. "

I abandoned at once my reserve, which could no longer be anything butchildish sulkiness, and I replied, as I thought I should, that he wasappreciating with too much indulgence a mere amateur's sketch; that Icertainly had the greatest desire of saving these beautiful ruins, butthat the most important part of my work threatened to remain quiteinsignificant, for want of historical information which I had vainly triedto find in the archives of the county-seat. 

"Parbleu, monsieur, " rejoined the horseman, "you please me greatly. I havein my library a large proportion of the archives of the abbey. Come andconsult them at your leisure. I shall feel grateful to you for doing so. "

I thanked him with some embarrassment. I regretted not to have known itsooner. I feared being recalled to Paris by a letter which I was expectingthis very day. Nevertheless, I had risen to make this answer, the illgrace of which I strove to attenuate by the courteousness of my attitude. At the same time, I formed a clearer idea of my interlocutor; he was ahandsome old man, with broad shoulders, who seemed to carry with ease theweight of some sixty winters, and whose bright blue eyes expressed thekindliest good feeling. 

"Come! come!" he exclaimed, "let us speak frankly. You feel somerepugnance at mingling with that band of hare-brained scamps you seeyonder, and whom I tried in vain yesterday to keep out of a silly affair, for which I now beg to tender you my sincere apologies. My name is theMarquis de Malouet, sir. After all, you went off with the honors of theday. They wished to see you; you did not wish to be seen. You carried yourpoint. What else can you ask?"

I could not help laughing on hearing such a favorable interpretation of myunlucky scrape. 

"You laugh!" rejoined the old marquis; "bravo! we'll soon come to anunderstanding, then. Now, what's to prevent your coming to spend a fewdays at my house? My wife has requested me to invite you; she has heard indetail all your annoyances of yesterday. She has an angel's disposition, my wife. She is no longer young, always ill; a mere breath; but she is anangel. I'll locate you in the library--you'll live like a hermit, if youlike. Mon Dieu! I see it all, I tell you; these madcaps of mine frightenyou; you are a serious man; I know all about that sort of disposition!Well! you'll find congenial company--my wife is full of sense; I am nofool myself. I am fond of exercise; in fact, it is indispensable to myhealth--but you must not take me for a brute! The devil! not at all! I'llastonish you. You must be fond of whist; we'll have a game together; youmust like to live well--delicately, I mean, as it is proper and suitablefor a man of taste and intelligence. Well! since you appreciate goodliving, I am your man; I have an excellent cook. I may even say that Ihave two for the present; one coming in and the other going out; it is aconjunction; the result is, a contest of skill, an academic tourney, ofwhich you will assist me in adjudging the prize! Come! sir, " he added, laughing ingenuously at his own chattering, "it's settled, isn't it? I'mgoing to carry you off. "

Happy Paul, thrice happy is the man who can say No! Alone, he is reallymaster of his time, of his fortune, and of his honor. One should be ableto say No! even to a beggar, even to a woman, even to an amiable old man, under penalty of surrendering at hazard his charity, his dignity, and hisindependence. For want of a manly No, how much misery, how many downfalls, how many crimes since Adam!

While I was considering in my own mind the invitation which had just beenextended to me, these thoughts crowded in my brain; I recognized theirprofound wisdom, and I said Yes! Fatal word, through which I lost myparadise, exchanging a retreat wholly to my taste--peaceful, laborious, romantic, and free--for the stiffness of a residence where societydisplays all the fury of its insipid dissipations. 

I demanded the necessary time for effecting my removal, and Monsieur deMalouet left me, after grasping my hand cordially, declaring that he wasextremely pleased with me, and that he was going to stimulate his twocooks to give me a triumphant reception. "I am going, " he said inconclusion, "to announce to them an artist, a poet: that'll work up theirimagination. "

Toward five o'clock, two valets from the chateau came to take charge of mylight baggage, and to advise me that a carriage was waiting for me on topof the hills. I bade farewell to my cell; I thanked my hosts; and I kissedtheir little urchins, all besmeared and ill-kempt as they were. These kindpeople seemed to see me going with regret. I felt, myself, anextraordinary and unaccountable sadness. I know not what strange sentimentattached me to that valley, but I left it with an aching heart, as oneleaves his native country. 

More to-morrow, Paul, for I am exhausted. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 

_26th September. _

The chateau of Malouet is a massive and rather vulgar construction, whichdates some one hundred years back. Fine avenues, a court of honor of ahandsome style, and an ancient park impart to it, however, an aspect trulyseigneurial. 

The old marquis came to receive me at the foot of the stoop, passed hisarm under mine, and after leading me through a long maze of corridors, introduced me into a vast drawing-room, where almost complete obscurityprevailed; I could only vaguely distinguish, by the intermittent blaze ofthe hearth, some twenty persons of both sexes, scattered here and there insmall groups. Thanks to this blessed twilight, I effected safely myentrance, which had at a distance offered itself to my imagination, undera solemn and somewhat alarming light. I had barely time to receive thecompliment of welcome which Madame de Malouet addressed me in a feeble butpenetrating voice. She took my arm almost at once to pass into thedining-room, having resolved, it appears, to refuse no mark ofconsideration to a pedestrian of such surprising agility. 

Once at the table and in the bright light, I was not long in discoveringthat my feats of the previous day had by no means been forgotten, and thatI was the center of general attention; but I stood bravely this cross-fireof curious and ironical glances, intrenched on the one hand behind amountain of flowers that ornamented the center of the table, and on theother assisted in my defensive position by the ingenious kindness of myneighbor. Madame de Malouet is one of those rare old women whom superiorstrength of mind or great purity of soul has preserved against despair atthe fatal hour of the fortieth year, and who have saved from the wreck oftheir youth a single waif, itself a supreme charm, grace. Small, frail, her face pale and withered from the effects of habitual suffering, shejustifies exactly her husband's expression: "She is a breath, a breaththat exhales intelligence and good-nature!" Not a shadow of any pretensionunbecoming her age, an exquisite care of her person without the faintesttrace of coquetry, a complete oblivion of her departed youth, a sort ofbashfulness at being old, and a touching desire, not to please, but to beforgiven; such is my adorable marquise. She has traveled much, read much, and knows Paris well. I roamed with her through one of those rapidconversations in which two minds whirl and for the first time seek tobecome acquainted, rambling from one pole to the other, touching lightlyupon all things, disputing gayly, and happy to agree. 

Monsieur de Malouet seized the opportunity of the removal of the colossaldish that separated us, to ascertain the condition of my relations withhis wife. He seemed satisfied at our evident good intelligence, andraising his sonorous and cordial voice:

"Monsieur, " he said to me, "I have spoken to you of my two rival cooks;now is the time to justify the reputation of high discernment which I haveattributed to you in the minds of these artists. 

"Alas! I am about to lose the oldest, and without doubt the most skillful, of these masters--the illustrious Jean Rostain. It was he, sir, who, onhis arrival from Paris, two years ago, made this remarkable speech to me:'A man of taste, Monsieur le Marquis, can no longer live in Paris; theypractice there now, a certain romantic style of cooking which will lead usHeaven knows where!' In short, sir, Rostain is a classic; this singularman has an opinion of his own! Well! you have just tasted in successiontwo _entremets_ dishes of which cream forms the essential foundation;according to my idea, these dishes are both a success; but Rostain's workhas struck me as greatly superior. Ah, ah! sir, I am curious to know ifyou can of your own accord and upon that simple indication, assign to eachtree its fruit, and render unto Cæsar what belongs to Cæsar. Ah, ah, letus see if you can!"

I cast a furtive glance at the remnants of the two dishes to which themarquis had just called my attention, and I had no hesitation indesignating as "classic" the one that was surmounted with a temple ofcupid, and a figure of that god in polychromatic pastry. 

"A hit!" exclaimed the marquis. "Bravo! Rostain shall hear of it, and hisheart will rejoice. Ah! monsieur, why has it not been my good fortune toreceive you in my house a few days sooner? I might perhaps have keptRostain, or, to speak more truly, Rostain might perhaps have kept me; forI cannot conceal the fact, gentlemen hunters, that you are not in the goodgraces of the old _chef_, and I am not far from attributing his departurewith whatever pretexts he may choose to color it, to the annoyance hefeels at your complete indifference. Thinking it might be agreeable tohim, I informed him, a few weeks ago, that our hunting-meetings were aboutto secure him a concourse of connoisseurs worthy of his talents. "

"Monsiuer le Marquis will excuse me, " replied Rostain with a melancholysmile, "if I do not share his illusions; in the first place, the hunterdevours and does not eat; he brings to the table the stomach of a man justsaved from shipwreck, _iratum ventrem_, as Horace says, and swallows upwithout choice and without reflection, _gulæ parens_, the most seriousproductions of an artist; in the second place, the violent exercise of thechase has developed in such guests an inordinate thirst, which theygenerally slake without moderation. Now, Monsieur le Marquis is notignorant of the opinion of the ancients on the excessive use of wineduring meals; it blunts the taste--_ersurdant vina palatum_! Nevertheless, Monsieur le Marquis may rest assured that I shall labor to please hisguests with my usual conscientiousness, though with the painful certaintyof not being understood. "

After uttering these words, Rostain draped himself in his toga, cast toheaven the look of an unappreciated genius, and left my study. 

"I would have thought, " I said to the marquis, "that you would have sparedno sacrifice to retain that great man. "

"You judge me correctly, sir, " replied Monsieur de Malouet; "but you'llsee that he carried me to the very limits of impossibility. Precisely aweek ago, Monsieur Rostain, having solicited a private audience, announcedto me that he found himself under the painful necessity of leaving myservice. 'Heavens! Monsieur Rostain to leave my service! And where do youexpect to go?' 'To Paris. ' 'What! to Paris! But you had shaken upon thegreat Babylon the dust of your sandals! The decadence of taste, theincreasing development of the romantic cuisine! Such are your own words, Rostain!' He replied: 'Doubtless, Monsieur le Marquis; but provincial lifehas bitter trials which I had not foreseen!' I offered him fabulous wages;he refused. 'Come, my good fellow, what is the matter? Ah! I see, youdon't like the scullery-maid; she disturbs your meditations by her vulgarsongs; very well, consider her dismissed! That is not enough? Is itAntoine, then, who is objectionable? I'll discharge him! Is it thecoachman? I'll send him away!' In short, I offered him, gentlemen, thewhole household as a holocaust. But, at all these prodigious concessions, the old _chef_ shook his head with indifference. But finally, I exclaimed, 'in the name of Heaven, Monsieur Rostain, do explain!' 'Mon Dieu! Monsieurle Marquis, ' then said Jean Rostain, 'I must confess to you that it isimpossible for me to live in a place where I find no one to play a game ofbilliards with me!' _Ma foi!_ it was a little too much!" added themarquis, with a cheerful good-nature. 

"I could not really offer to play billiards with him myself! I had tosubmit. I wrote at once to Paris, and last evening a young cook arrived, who wears a mustache and gave his name as Jacquemart (of Bordeaux). Theclassic Rostain, in a sublime impulse of artistic pride, volunteered toassist Monsieur Jacquemart (of Bordeaux) in his first effort, and that'show, gentlemen, I was able to-day to serve this great eclectic dinner, ofwhich, I fear, we will alone, monsieur and myself, have appreciated themysterious beauties. "

Monsieur de Malouet rose from the table as he was concluding the story ofRostain's epic. After coffee, I followed the smokers into the garden. Theevening was magnificent. The marquis led me away along the main avenue, the fine sand of which sparkled in the moonlight between the dense shadowsof the tall chestnuts. While talking with apparent carelessness, hesubmitted me to a sort of examination upon a variety of subjects, as if tomake sure that I was worthy of the interest he had so gratuitouslymanifested toward me up to this time. We were far from agreeing on allpoints; but, gifted both with sincerity and good-nature, we found almostas much pleasure in arguing as we did in agreeing. That epicurean is athinker; his thought, always generously inclined, has assumed, in thesolitude where it has developed itself, a peculiar and paradoxical turn. Iwish I could give you an idea of it. 

As we were returning to the chateau, we heard a great noise of voices andlaughter, and we saw at the foot of the stoop some ten or twelve young menwho were jumping and bounding, as if trying to reach, without the help ofthe steps, the platform that crowns the double staircase. We were enabledto understand the explanation of these passionate gymnastics as soon asthe light of the moon enabled us to distinguish a white dress on theplatform. It was evidently a tournament of which the white dress was tocrown the victor. The young lady (had she not been young, they would nothave jumped so high) was leaning over the balustrade, exposing boldly tothe dew of an autumn night, and to the kisses of Diana, herflower-wreathed head and her bare shoulders; she was slightly stoopingdown, and held out to the competitors an object somewhat difficult todiscern at a distance; it was a slender cigarette, the delicate handiworkof her white fingers and her rosy nails. Although there was nothing in thesight that was not charming, Monsieur de Malouet probably found in itsomething he did not like, for his tone of cheerful good-humor becamesuddenly shaded with a perceptible tint of annoyance, when he murmured:

"There it is again! I was sure of it! It is the Little Countess!"

It is hardly necessary for me to add that I had recognized, in the LittleCountess, my Amazon with the blue plume, who, with or without plume, seemsto have always the same disposition. She recognized me perfectly also, onher side, as you'll see directly. At the moment when we were reaching, Monsieur Malouet and myself, the top of the stoop, leaving the rivalpretenders to vie and struggle with increasing ardor, the little countess, intimidated perhaps by the presence of the marquis, resolved to put an endto the scene, and thrust abruptly her cigarette into my hand, saying:

"Here! it's for you! After all, you jump better than any of them. "

And she disappeared after this parting shaft, which possessed the doubleadvantage of hitting at once both the victor and the vanquished. 

This was, so far as I am concerned, the last noticeable episode of theevening. After a game or two of whist, I pretended a little fatigue, andMonsieur de Malouet had the kindness to escort me in person to a prettylittle room, hung with chintz and contiguous to the library. I wasdisturbed during part of the night by the monotonous sound of the pianoand the rumbling noise of the carriages, indications of civilization whichmade me regret more bitterly than ever my poor Thebais. 

CHAPTER V. 

A DENUNCIATION OVERHEARD. 

_28th September. _

I had the satisfaction of discovering in the library of the marquis thehistorical documents I needed. They form, indeed, a part of the ancientarchives of the abbey, and have a special interest for the family ofMalouet. It was one William Malouet, a very noble man and a knight, who, about the middle of the twelfth century, with the consent of messieurs hissons, Hughes, Foulgues, John, and Thomas, restored the church and foundedthe abbey in favor of the order of the Benedictine monks, and for thesalvation of his soul and of the souls of his ancestors, granting unto thecongregation, among other dues and privileges, the fee-simple of thelands of the abbey, the tithe of all its revenues, half the wool of itsflocks, three loads of wax to be received every year at MountSaint-Michel-on-the-sea; then the river, the moors, the woods, and themill, _et molendinum in eodem situ_. I took pleasure in following throughthe wretched latin of the time the description of this familiar landscape. It has not changed. 

The foundation charter bears date 1145. Subsequent charters show that theabbey of Rozel was in possession, in the thirteenth century, of a sort ofpatriarchate over all the institutions of the order of Saint Benedict thatwere then in existence in the province of Normandy. A general chapter ofthe order was held there every year, presided over by the Abbot of Rozel, and at which some ten or a dozen other convents were represented bytheir highest dignitaries. The discipline, the labors, the temporal andspiritual management of all the Benedictines of the province were herecontrolled and reformed with a severity which the minutes of these littlecouncils attest in the noblest terms. These scenes replete with dignity, took place in that Capitulary Hall now so shamefully defiled. 

Aside from the archives, this library is very rich, and this is apt todivert attention. Moreover, the vortex of worldly dissipation that ragesin the chateau is not without occasionally doing some prejudice to myindependence. Finally, my worthy hosts frequently take away with one handthe liberty they have granted me with the other; like many persons of theworld, they have not a very clear idea of the degree of connectedoccupation which deserves the name of work, and an hour or two ofreading appears to them the utmost extent of labor that a man can bearin a day. 

"Consider yourself wholly free, " Monsieur le Malouet tells me everymorning; "go up to your hermitage; work at your ease. "

An hour later he is knocking at my door:

"Well! are we hard at work?"

"Why, yes, I am beginning to get into it. "

"What! the duse! You have been at it more than two hours! You are killingyourself, my friend. However, you are free. By the way, my wife is in theparlor; when you have done you'll go and keep her company, won't you?"

"Most undoubtdedly I will. "

"But only when you have entirely done, of course. "

And, he goes off for a hunt or a ride by the seaside. As to myself, preoccupied with the idea than I am expected, and satisfied that I shallbe unable to do any further work of value, I soon resolve to go and joinMadame de Malouet, whom I find deeply engaged in conversation with theparish priest, or with Jacquemart (of Bordeaux). She has disturbed me, Iam in her way, and we smile pleasantly to each other. 

Such is the manner in which the middle of the day usually passes off. 

In the morning, I ride on horseback with the marquis, who is kind enoughto spare me the crowd and tumult of the general riding-parties. In theevening, I take a hand at whist, then I chat a while with the ladies, andI try my best to cast off at their feet my bear's skin and reputation; forI dislike to display any eccentricity of my own, this one rather more sothan any other. There is in a grave disposition, when carried to the pointof stiffness and ill-grace toward women, something coarsely pedantic, thatis unbecoming in great talents and ridiculous in lesser ones. I retireafterward, and I work rather late in the library. That's the best of myday. 

The society at the chateau is usually made up of the marquis' guests, whoare always numerous at this season, and of a few persons of theneighborhood. The object of these entertainments on a grand scale is, above all, to celebrate the visit of Monsieur de Malouet's only daughter, who comes every year to spend the autumn with her family. She is a personof statuesque beauty, who amuses herself with queenly dignity, and whocommunicates with ordinary mortals by means of contemptuous mono-syllablesuttered in a deep bass voice. She married, some twelve years ago, anEnglishman, a member of the diplomatic corps, Lord A----, a personageequally handsome and impassive as herself. He addresses at intervals tohis wife an English monosyllable, to which the latter repliesimperturbably with a French monosyllable. Nevertheless, three littlelords, worthy the pencil of Lawrence, who strut majestically around thisOlympian couple, attest between the two nations a secret intelligencewhich escapes the vulgar observer. 

A scarcely less remarkable couple comes over to us daily from aneighboring chateau. The husband is one Monsiuer de Breuilly, formerly anofficer in King Charles X's body-guards, and a bosom friend of themarquis. He is a very lively old man, still quite fine-looking, andwearing over close-cropped gray hair a hat too small for his head. He hasan odd, though perhaps natural, way of scanning his words, and of speakingwith a degree of deliberation that seems affected. He would be quitepleasant, however, were it not that his mind is constantly tortured by anardent jealousy, and by a no less ardent apprehension of betraying hisweakness, which, nevertheless, is a glaring and obvious fact to every one. It is difficult to understand how, with such a disposition and a greatdeal of common sense, he has committed the signal error of marrying, atthe age of fifty-five, a young and pretty woman, and a creole, I believe, in the bargain. 

"Monsieur de Breuilly!" said the marquis, as he presented me to thepunctilious gentleman, "my best friend, who will infallibly become yoursalso, and who, quite as infallibly, will cut your throat if you attempt toshow any attention to his wife. "

"Mon Dieu! my dear friend, " replied Monsieur de Breuilly, with a laughthat was anything but joyful, and accentuating each word in his peculiarstyle, "why represent me to this gentleman as a Norman Othello? Monsieurmay surely--monsieur is perfectly free to--besides, he knows and canobserve the proper limits of things. At any rate, sir, here is Madame deBreuilly; suffer me to recommend her myself to your kind attentions. "

Somewhat surprised at this language, I had the simplicity, or perhaps theinnocent malice, of interpreting it literally. I sat down squarely by theside of Madame de Breuilly, and I began paying her marked attention, while, however, "observing the proper limits of things. " In the meantime, Monsieur de Breuilly was watching us from a distance, with anextraordinary countenance. I could see his little gray eyes sparkling likeglowing ashes; he was laughing loud, grinning, stamping, and fairlydisjointing his fingers with sinister cracks. Monsieur de Malouet camesuddenly to me, handed me a whist card, and taking me aside:

"What the duse has got into you?" he said. 

"Into me? why, nothing!"

"Have I not warned you? It's quite a serious matter. Look at Breuilly! Itis the only weakness of that gallant man; every one respects it here. Dolikewise, I beg of you. "

From the weakness of that gallant man, it results that his wife iscondemned in society to perpetual quarantine. The fighting propensities ofa husband are often but an additional attraction for the lightning; butmen hesitate to risk their lives without any prospect of possiblecompensation, and we have here a man who threatens you at least with apublic scandal, not only before harvest, as they say, but even before theseed has been fairly sown. Such a state of affairs manifestly discouragesthe most enterprising, and it is quite rare that Madame de Breuilly hasnot two vacant seats on her right and on her left, despite her nonchalantgrace, despite her great creole eyes, and despite her plaintive andbeseeching looks, that seem to be ever saying: "Mon Dieu! will no one leadme into temptation?"

You would doubtless think that the evident neglect in which the poor wifelives ought to be, for her husband, a motive of security. Not at all! Hisingenious mania manages to discover in that fact a fresh motive ofperplexity. 

"My friend, " he was saying yesterday to Monsieur de Malouet, "you knowthat I am no more jealous than any one else; but without being Orosmane, Ido not pretend to be George Dandin. Well! one thing troubles me, myfriend; have you noticed that apparently no one pays any attention to mywife?"

"Parbleu! if that's what troubles you--"

"Of course it is; you must admit that it is not natural. My wife ispretty; why don't they pay attention to her as well as to other ladies?There is something suspicious there!"

Fortunately, and to the great advantage of the social question, all theyoung women who reside in turn at the chateau are not guarded by dragonsof that caliber. A few even, and among them two or three Parisians out fora holiday, display a freedom of manner, a love of pleasure, and anexaggerated elegance that certainly pass the bounds of discretion. You areaware that I have not the highest opinion of that sort of behavior, whichdoes not answer my idea of the duties of a woman, and even of a woman ofthe world; nevertheless, I take side without hesitation with these giddyones; and their conduct even appears to me the very ideal of truth andsincerity, when I hear nightly certain pious matrons distilling againstthem, amid low and vulgar gossip, the venom of the basest envy that canswell a rural heart. Moreover, it is not always necessary to leave Parisin order to have the ugly spectacle of these provincials let loose againstwhat they call vice, namely, youth, elegance, distinction, charm--in aword, all the qualities which the worthy ladies possess no more, or haveperhaps never possessed. 

Nevertheless, with whatever disgust, these chaste vixens inspire me forthe virtue they pretend to uphold (Oh, virtue! how many crimes arecommitted in thy name!), I am compelled, to my great regret to agree withthem on one point, and to admit that one of their victims at least givesan appearance of justice to their reprobation and to their calumnies. Theangel of kindness himself would hide his face in presence of this completespecimen of dissipation, of turbulence, of futility, and finally ofworldly extravagance that bears the name of Countess de Palme, and thenickname of the Little Countess; a rather ill-fitting nickname, by theway, for the lady is not small, but simply slender and lithe. Madame dePalme is twenty-five years of age; she is a widow; she spends the winterin Paris with her sister, and the summer in an old Norman manor-house, with her aunt, Madame de Pontbrian. Let me get rid of the aunt first. 

This aunt, who is of very ancient nobility, is particularly noted for thefervor of her hereditary opinions, and for her strict devotion. Those areboth claims to consideration which I admit fully, so far as I amconcerned. Every solid principle and every sincere sentiment command inthese days a peculiar respect. Unfortunately Madame de Pontbrian seems tobe one of those intensely devout persons who are but very indifferentChristians. She is one of those who, reducing to a few minor observances, of which they are ridiculously proud, all the duties of their religious orpolitical faith, impart to both a harsh and hateful appearance, the effectof which is not exactly to attract proselytes. The outer forms, in allthings, are sufficient for her conscience; otherwise, no trace of charityor kindness; above all, no trace of humility. Her genealogy, her assiduityto church, and her annual pilgrimages to the shrine of an illustriousexile (who would probably be glad to dispense with the sight of hercountenance), inspire in this fairy such a lofty idea of herself and sucha profound contempt for her neighbor, that they make her positivelyunsociable. She remains forever absorbed in the latrian worship which shebelieves due to herself. She deigns to speak but to God, and He mustindeed be a kind and merciful God if He listens to her. 

Under the nominal patronage of this mystic duenna, the Little Countessenjoys an absolute independence, which she uses to excess. After spendingthe winter in Paris, where she kills off regularly two horses and acoachman every month for the sole gratification of waltzing ten minutesevery night in half a dozen different balls, Madame de Palme feels thenecessity of seeking rest in the peace of rural life. She arrives at heraunt's, she jumps upon a horse, and she starts at full gallop. It mattersnot which way she goes, provided she keeps going. Most generally she comesto the Chateau de Malouet, where the kind-hearted mistress of the housemanifests for her an amount of predilection which I can hardly understand. Familiar with men, impertinent with women, the Little Countess offers abroad mark to the most indiscreet homage of the former, and to the jealoushostility of the latter. Indifferent to the outrages of public opinion, she seems ready to aspire to the coarsest incense of gallantry; but whatshe requires above all things is noise, movement, a whirl, worldlypleasure carried to its most extreme and most extravagant fury; what sherequires every morning, every evening, and every night, is a break-neckchase, which she conducts with frenzy; a reckless game, in which she maybreak the bank; an uninterrupted German, which she leads until dawn. Astoppage of a single minute, a moment of rest, of meditation andreflection, would kill her. Never was an existence at once so busy and soidle; never a more unceasing and more sterile activity. 

Thus she goes through life hurriedly and without a halt, graceful, careless, busy, and ignorant as the horse she rides. When she reaches thefatal goal, that woman will fall from the nothingness of her agitationinto the nothingness of eternal rest, without the shadow of a seriousidea, the faintest notion of duty, the lightest cloud of a thought worthya human being, having ever grazed, even in a dream, the narrow brain thatis sheltered behind her pure, smiling, and stupid brow. It might be saidthat death, at whatever age it may overtake her, will find the LittleCountess just as she left the cradle, if it were possible to suppose thatshe has preserved its innocence as well as she has retained its profoundpuerility. Has that madcap a soul? The word nothingness has escaped me. Itis indeed difficult for me to conceive what might survive that body whenit has once lost the vain fever and the frivolous breath that seem aloneto animate it. 

I know too well the miserable ways of the world, to take to the letter theaccusations of immorality of which Madame de Palme is here the object onthe part of the witches, as also on the part of some of her rivals who aresilly enough to envy her social success. It is not in that respect, as youmay understand, that I treat her with so much severity. Men, when theyshow themselves unmerciful for certain errors, are too apt to forget thatthey have all, more or less, spent part of their lives seeking to bringthem about for their own benefit. But there is in the feminine type whichI have just sketched something more shocking than immorality itself, which, however, it is rather difficult to separate from it. And so, notwithstanding my desire of not making myself conspicuous in anything, Ihave been unable to take upon myself to join the throng of admirers whomMadame de Palme drags after her triumphal car. I know not whether

"Le tyran dans sa cour remarqua mon absence:"

I am sometimes tempted to believe it, from the glances of astonishment andscorn with which I am overwhelmed when we meet; but it is more simple toattribute these hostile symptoms to the natural antipathy that separatestwo creatures as dissimilar as we are. I look at her at times, myself, with the gaping surprise which must be excited in the mind of any thinkingbeing by the monstrosity of such a psychological phenomenon. In that waywe are even. I ought rather to say we were even, for we are really nolonger so, since a rather cruel little adventure that happened to me lastnight, and which constitutes in my account-current with Madame de Palme aconsiderable advance, which she will find it difficult to make up. I havetold you that Madame de Malouet, through I know not what refinement ofChristian charity, manifested a genuine predilection for the LittleCountess. I was talking with the marquise last evening in a corner of thedrawing-room. I took the liberty of telling her that this predilection, coming from a woman like her, was a bad example; that I had never verywell understood, for my part, that passage of the Holy Scriptures in whichthe return of a single sinner is celebrated above the constant merit of athousand just, and that this had always appeared to me very discouragingfor the just. 

"In the first place, " answered Madame de Malouet, "the just do not getdiscouraged; and in the next place, there are none. Do you fancy yourselfone, by chance?"

"Certainly not; I am perfectly well aware of the contrary. "

"Well, then, where do you get the right of judging your neighbor soseverely?"

"I do not acknowledge Madame de Palme as my neighbor. "

"That's convenient! Madame de Palme, sir, has been badly brought up, badlymarried, and always spoilt; but, believe me, she is a genuine roughdiamond. "

"I only see the roughness. "

"And rest assured that it only requires a skillful workman--I mean a goodhusband--to cut and polish it. "

"Allow me to pity that future lapidary. "

Madame de Malouet tapped the carpet with her foot, and manifested othersigns of impatience, which I knew not at first how to interpret, for sheis never out of humor; but suddenly a thought, which I took for a luminousone, occurred in my mind; I had no doubt that I had at last discovered theweak side and the only failing in that charming old woman. She waspossessed with the mania of match making, and, in her Christian anxiety tosnatch the Little Countess from the abyss of perdition, she was secretlymeditating to hurl me into it with her, unworthy though I be. Penetratedwith this modest conviction, I kept upon a defensive that seems to me, atthe present moment, perfectly ridiculous. 

"Mon Dieu!" said Madame de Malouet, "because you doubt her learning!"

"I do not doubt her learning, " I said; "I doubt whether she knows how toread. "

"But, in short, what fault do you find with her?" rejoined Madame deMalouet in a singularly agitated tone of voice. 

I determined to demolish, at a single stroke, the matrimonial dream withwhich I supposed the marchioness to be deluding herself. 

"I find fault with her, " I replied, "for giving to the world thespectacle, supremely irritating even for a profane being like me, oftriumphant nullity and haughty vice. I am not worth much, it's true, and Ihave no right to judge, but there is in me, as well as in any theatricalaudience, a certain sentiment of reason and morality that rises inindignation in presence of personages wholly devoid of common-sense orvirtue, and that protests against their triumph. "

The old lady's indignation seemed to increase. 

"Do you think I would receive her, if she deserved all the stones whichslander casts at her?"

"I think it is impossible for you to believe any evil. "

"Bah! I assure you that you do not show in this case any evidence ofpenetration. These love-stories which are attributed to her are so littlelike her! She is a child who does not even know what it is to love!"

"I am convinced of that, madame. Her commonplace coquetry is sufficientevidence of that. I am even ready to swear that the allurements of theimagination or the impulses of passion are wholly foreign to her errors, which thus remain without excuse. "

"Oh! mon Dieu!" exclaimed Madame de Malouet, clasping her hands, "do hush!she is a poor, forsaken child! I know her better than you do. I assure youthat beneath her appearance--much too frivolous, I admit--she possesses infact as much heart as she does sense. "

"That is precisely what I think, madam; as much one of as of the other. "

"Ah! that is really intolerable, " murmured Madame de Malouet, dropping herarms in a disconsolate manner. 

At the same moment, I saw the curtain that half covered the door by theside of which we sat shake violently, and the Little Countess, leaving thehiding-place where she had been confined by the exigencies of I know notwhat game, showed herself to us for a moment in the aperture of the door, and returned to join the group of players that stood in the adjoiningparlor. I looked at Madame de Malouet:

"What! she was there!"

"Of course she was. She heard us, and, what's more, she could see us. Imade all the signs I could, but you were off!"

I remained somewhat embarrassed. I regretted the harshness of my words;for, in attacking so violently this young person, I had yielded to theexcitement of controversy much more than to a sentiment of seriousanimadversion. In point of fact, she is indifferent to me, but it's alittle too much to hear her praised. 

"And now what am I to do?" I said to Madame de Malouet. 

She reflected for a moment, and replied with a slight shrug of hershoulders:

"_Ma foi!_ nothing; that's the best thing you can do. "

The least breath causes a full cup to overflow; thus the littleunpleasantness of this scene seems to have intensified this feeling ofennui which has scarce left me since my advent into this abode of joy. This continuous gayety, this restless agitation, this racing and dancingand dining, this ceaseless merry-making, and this eternal round offestivity importune me to the point of disgust. I regret bitterly the timeI have wasted in reading and investigations which in no wise concern myofficial mission and have but little advanced its termination; I regretthe engagements which the kind entreaties of my hosts have extorted frommy weakness; I regret my vale of Tempe; above all, Paul, I regret you. There are certainly in this little social center a sufficient number ofsuperior and kindly disposed minds to form the elements of the pleasantestand even the most elevated relations; but these elements are fairlysubmerged in the worldly and vulgar throng, and can only be eliminatedfrom it with much trouble and difficulty, and never without admixture. Monsieur and Madame de Malouet, Monsieur de Breuilly even, when his insanejealously does not deprive him of the use of his faculties, certainlypossess choice minds and hearts; but the mere difference of age opens anabyss between us. As to the young men and the men of my own age whom Imeet here, they all march with more or less eager step in Madame dePalme's wake. It is enough that I should decline to follow them in thatpath, to cause them to manifest toward me a coolness akin to antipathy. Mypride does not attempt to break that ice, though two or three among themappear well gifted, and reveal instincts superior to the life they haveadopted. 

There is one question I sometimes ask of myself on that subject; are weany better, you and I, youthful Paul, than this crowd of joyous companionsand pleasant _viveurs_, or are we simply different from them? Likeourselves, they possess honesty and honor; like ourselves, they haveneither virtue nor religion properly so-called. So far, we are equal. Ourtastes alone and our pleasures differ; all their preoccupations turn tothe lighter ways of the world, to the cares of gallantry and materialactivity; ours are almost exclusively given up to the exercise of thought, to the talents of the mind, to the works, good or evil, of the intellect. In the light of human truth, and according to common estimation, it isdoubtful whether the difference in this particular is wholly in our favor;but in a more elevated order, in the moral order, and, so to speak, in thepresence of God, does that superiority hold good? Are we merely yielding, as they do, to an inclination that leads us rather more to one side thanto another, or are we obeying an imperative duty? What is in the eyes ofGod the merit of intellectual life? It seems to me sometimes that wepossess for thought a species of pagan worship to which He attaches novalue, and which perhaps even offends Him. More frequently, however, Ithink that He wishes us to make use of thought, were it even to be turnedagainst Him, and that He accepts as a homage all the quiverings of thatnoble instrument of joy and torture which He has placed within us. 

Is not sadness, in periods of doubt and anxiety, a species of religion? Itrust so. We are, you and I, somewhat like those poor dreaming sphinxeswho have been asking in vain for so many centuries, from the solitudes ofthe desert, the solution of the eternal riddle. Would it be a greater andmore guilty folly than the happy carelessness of the Little Countess? Weshall see. In the meantime, retain, for my sake, that ground-work ofmelancholy upon which you weave your own gentle mirth; for, thank God! youare not a pedant; you can live, you can laugh, and even laugh aloud; butthy soul is sad unto death, and that is only why I love unto death thyfraternal soul. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE MARQUISE INTERCEDES. 

_1st October. _

Paul, there is something going on here that does not please me. I wouldlike to have your advice; send it as soon as possible. 

On Thursday morning, after finishing my letter, I went down to give it tothe messenger, who leaves quite early; then, as it only wanted a fewminutes of the breakfast-hour, I walked into the drawing-room, which wasstill empty. I was quietly looking over a review by the fireside, when thedoor was suddenly flung open; I heard the crushing and rustling of a silkdress too broad to get easily through an aperture three feet wide, and Isaw the Little Countess appear: she had spent the night at the chateau. 

If you remember the unfortunate conversation in which I had becomeentangled, the previous evening, and which Madame de Palme had overheardfrom beginning to end, you will readily understand that this lady was thelast person in the world with whom it might prove pleasant to find myselfalone that morning. 

I rose and I addressed to her a deep courtsey; she replied with a nod, which, though slight, was still more than I deserved from her. The firststeps she took in the parlor after she had seen me were stamped withhesitation and a sort of wavering; it was like the action of a partridgelightly hit on the wing and somewhat stunned by the shot. Would she go tothe piano, to the window, to the right or to the left, or opposite? It wasclear that she did not know herself; but indecision is not the weak pointof her disposition; she soon made up her mind, and crossing the immensedrawing room with very firm step, she came in the direction of thechimney, that is, toward my immediate domain. 

Standing in front of my arm-chair with my review in my hand, I wasawaiting the event with an apparent gravity that concealed butimperfectly, I fear, a rather powerful inward anxiety. I had indeed everyreason to apprehend an explanation and a scene. In every circumstance ofthis kind, the natural feelings of our heart and the refinement whicheducation and the habits of society add to them, the absolute freedom ofthe attack and the narrow limits allowed to the defense, give to women anoverwhelming superiority over any man who is not a boor or a lover. In theparticular crisis that was threatening me, the stinging consciousness ofmy wrongs, the recollection of the almost insulting form under which myoffense had manifested itself, united to deprive me of all thought ofresistance; I found myself delivered over, bound hand and foot, to thefrightful wrath of a young and imperious woman thirsting for vengeance. Myattitude was, therefore, not very brilliant. 

Madame de Palme stopped within two steps of me, spread her right hand onthe marble of the mantel, and extended toward the blazing hearth thebronzed slipper within which her left foot was held captive. Havingaccomplished these preliminary dispositions, she turned toward me, andwithout addressing me a single word, she seemed to enjoy my countenance, which, I repeat, was not worth much. I resolved to sit down again andresume my reading; but previously, and by way of transition, I thoughtbest to say politely:

"Wouldn't you like to have this review, madam?"

"Thank you, sir, I cannot read. "

Such was the answer that was promptly shot off at me in a brief tone ofvoice. I made with my head and my hand a courteous gesture, by which Iseemed to sympathize gently with the infirmity that was thus revealed tome, after which I sat down, feeling more easy. I had drawn my adversary'sfire. Honor seemed to me satisfied. 

Nevertheless, after a few moments of silence, I began again to feel theawkwardness of my situation; I strove in vain to become absorbed in myreading; I kept seeing a multitude of little bronzed slippers dancing allover the paper. An open scene would have appeared to me decidedlypreferable to this unpleasant and persistent proximity, to the mutehostility betrayed to my furtive glance by Madame de Palme's restlessfoot, the jingle of her rings on the marble mantel, and the quiveringmobility of her nostrils. I therefore unconsciously uttered a sigh ofrelief when the door, opening suddenly, introduced upon the stage a newpersonage, whom I felt justified in considering as an ally. 

It was a lady--a school-friend of Lady A----, whose name is MadameDurmaitre. She is a widow, and extremely handsome; she is noted for alesser degree of folly amid the wild and worldly ladies of the chateau. For this reason, and somewhat also on account of her superior charms, shehas long since conquered the ill-will of Madame de Palme, who, in allusionto her rival's somber style of dress, to the languid character of herbeauty, and to the somewhat elegiac turn of her conversation, is pleasedto designate her, among the young people, as the Malabar Widow. MadameDurmaitre is positively lacking in wit; but she is intelligent, tolerablywell read, and much inclined to reverie. She prides herself upon a certaintalent for conversation. Seeing that I am myself destitute of any othersocial accomplishment, she has got it into her head that I must possessthat particular one, and she has undertaken to make sure of it. The resulthas been, between us, a rather assiduous and almost cordial intercourse;for, if I have been unable to fully respond to all her hopes, I listen, atleast with religious attention, to the little melancholy pathos which ishabitual with her. I appear to understand her, and she seems grateful forit. The truth is that I never tire hearing her voice, which is musical, gazing at her features, which are exquisitely regular, and admiring herlarge black eyes, over which a fringe of heavy eyelashes casts a mysticshadow. However, do not feel uneasy; I have decided that the time forbeing loved, and consequently for loving, is over for me; now, love is amalady which no one need fear, if he sincerely strive to repress its firstsymptoms. 

Madame de Palme had turned around at the sound of the opening door; whenshe recognized Madame Durmaitre, a fierce light gleamed in her blue eyes;chance had sent her a victim. She allowed the beautiful widow to advance afew paces toward us, with the slow and mournful step which ischaracteristic of her manner, and bursting out laughing:

"Bravo!" she exclaimed, with emphasis, "the march to the scaffold! thevictim dragged to the altar! Iphigenia; or, rather, Hermione:

"'Pleurante apres son char vous voulez qu'on me voie!'

"Who is it that has written this verse? I am so ignorant! Ah! it's yourfriend, M. De Lamartine, I believe. He was thinking of you, my dear!"

"Ah! you quote poetry now, dear madam, " said Madame Durmaitre, who is notvery skilled at retort. 

"Why not, dear madam? Have you a monopoly of it?--'Pleurante apres sonchar?' I have heard Rachel say that. By the way, it is not by Lamartine, it's by Boileau. I must tell you, dear Nathalie, that I intend to ask youto give me lessons in serious and virtuous conversation. It's so amusing!And to begin at once, come! tell me whom you prefer, Lamartine orBoileau?"

"But, Bathilde, there is no connection, " replied Madame Durmaitre, rathersensibly and much too candidly. 

"Ah!" rejoined Madame de Palme. And suddenly pointing me out with herfinger: "You perhaps prefer this gentleman, who also writes poetry?"

"No, madam, " I said, "it is a mistake; I write none. "

"Ah! I thought you did. I beg your pardon. "

Madame Durmaitre, who doubtless owes the unalterable serenity of her soulto the consciousness of her supreme beauty, had been content with smilingwith disdainful nonchalance. She dropped into the arm-chair, which I hadgiven up to her. 

"What gloomy weather!" she said to me; "really, this autumnal sky weighsupon the soul. I was looking out of the window; all the trees look likecypress-trees, and the whole country looks like a graveyard. It wouldreally seem that----"

"No, ah! no. I beg of you, Nathalie, " interrupted Madame de Palme, "say nomore. That's enough fun before breakfast. You'll make yourself sick. "

"Well, now! my dear Bathilde, you must really have slept very badly lastnight, " said the beautiful widow. 

"I, my dear? ah! do not say that. I had celestial, ecstatic dreams;ecstasies, you know. My soul held converse with other souls--like your ownsoul. Angels smiled at me through the foliage of the cypress-trees--and soforth, and so forth!"

Madame Durmaitre blushed slightly, shrugged her shoulders, and took up thereview I had laid upon the mantel-piece. 

"By the bye, Nathalie, " resumed Madame de Palme, "do you know who we aregoing to have at dinner to-day, in the way of men?" The good-naturedNathalie mentioned Monsieur de Breuilly, two or three other marriedgentlemen, and the parish priest. 

"Then I am going away after breakfast, " said the Little Countess, lookingat me. 

"That's very polite to us, " murmured Madame Durmaitre. 

"You know, " replied the other with imperturbable assurance, "that I onlylike men's society, and there are three classes of individuals whom I donot consider as belonging to that sex, or to any other; those are marriedmen, priests, and savants. "

As she concluded this sentence, Madame de Palme cast another glance at me, by which however, I had no need to understand that she included me in herclassification of neutral species; it could only be among the individualsof the third category, though I have no claim to it whatever; but it doesnot require much to be considered a savant by the ladies. 

Almost at this very moment, the breakfast-bell rang in the court-yard ofthe chateau, and she added:

"Ah! there's breakfast, thank Heaven! for I am develish hungry, with allrespect for pure spirits and troubled souls. "

She then ran and skipped to the other end of the parlor to greet Monsieurde Malouet, who was coming in followed by his guests. As to myself, Ipromptly offered my arm to Madame Durmaitre, and I endeavored by earnestattentions, to make her forget the storm which the mere shade of sympathyshe manifests toward me had just attracted upon her. 

As you may have remarked, the Little Countess had exhibited in the courseof this scene, as always, an unmeasured and unseemly freedom of language;but she displayed greater resources of mind than I supposed her capable ofdoing, and though they had been directed against me, I could not helpfeeling thankful to her--to such an extent do I hate fools, whom I haveever found in this world more pernicious than wicked people. The resultwas, that with the feeling of repulsion and contempt with which theextravagantly worldly woman inspired me, there was henceforth mingled ashade of gentle pity for the badly brought-up child and the misdirectedwoman. 

Women are prompt in catching delicate shades of feeling, and the latterdid not escape Madame de Palme. She became vaguely conscious of a slightlyfavorable change in my opinion of her, and it was not long before she evenbegan to exaggerate its extent and to attempt abusing it. For two days shepursued me with her keenest shafts, which I bore good-naturedly, and towhich I even responded with some little attentions, for I had still atheart the rude expressions of my dialogue with Madame de Malouet, and Idid not think I had sufficiently expiated them by the feeble martyrdom Ihad undergone the following day in common with the beautiful MalabarWidow. 

This was enough to cause Madame Bathilde de Palme to imagine that shecould treat me as a conquered province, and add Ulysses to his companions. Day before yesterday she had tested several times during the day theextent of her growing power over my heart and my will, by asking two orthree little services of me; services to the honor of which every one hereeagerly aspires, and which for my part, I discharged politely but withevident coolness. 

In spite of the extreme reserve with which I had lent myself to thesetrials during the day, Madame de Palme believed in her complete success;she hastily judged that she now had but to rivet my chains and bind me toher triumph, a feeble addition of glory assuredly, but which had, afterall, the merit, in her eyes, of having been contested. During the evening, as I was leaving the whist-table, she advanced toward me deliberately, andrequested me to do her the honor of figuring with her in the characterdance called the cotillon. [B] I excused myself laughingly on my completeinexperience; she insisted, declaring that I had evident dispositions fordancing, and reminding me of the agility I had displayed in the forest. Finally, and to close the debate, she led me away familiarly by the arm, adding that she was not in the habit of being refused. 

"Nor I, madam, " I said, "in that of making a show of myself. "

"What! not even to gratify me?"

"Not even for that, madam, and were it the only means of succeeding indoing so. "

I bowed to her smilingly after these words, which I had emphasized in sucha positive manner that she insisted no more. She dropped my arm abruptlyand returned to join a group of dancers who were observing us at adistance with manifest interest. She was received by them with whispersand smiles, to which she replied with a few rapid sentences, among which Ionly caught the word _revanche_. I paid no further attention to the matterfor the time being, and my soul went to converse amid the clouds with thesoul of Madame Durmaitre. 

The next day a grand hunt was to take place in the forest. I had arrangedto take no share in it, wishing to make the best of a whole day ofsolitude to push forward my hopeless undertaking. Toward noon, the huntersmet in the court-yard of the chateau, which rang again for some fifteenminutes with the loud blast of the trumpets, the stamping of horses, andthe yelping of the pack. Then the tumultuous crowd disappeared down theavenue, the noise gradually died away, and I remained master of myself andof my mind, in the midst of a silence the more grateful that it is themore rare on this meridian. 

I had been enjoying my solitude for a few minutes, and I was turning overthe folio pages of the _Neustra pia_, while smiling at my own happiness, when I fancied I heard the gallop of a horse in the avenue, and soon afteron the pavement of the court. Some hunter behind time, I thought, and, taking up my pen, I began extracting from the enormous volume the passagerelating to the General Chapters of the Benedictines; but a new and moreserious interruption came to afflict me; some one was knocking at thelibrary-door. I shook my head with ill-humor, and I said "Come in!" in thesame tone in which I might have said "Go away!" Some one did come in. Ihad seen, a few moments before, Madame de Palme taking her flight, feathers and all, at the head of the cavalcade, and I was not a littlesurprised to find her again within two steps of me as soon as the door wasopen. Her head was bare, and her hair was tucked up behind in an oddmanner; she held her whip in one hand, and with the other lifted up thelong train of her riding-habit. The excitement of the rapid ride she hadjust had seemed further to intensify the expression of audacity which ishabitual to her look and to her features. And yet her voice was lessassured than usual when she exclaimed as she came in:

"Ah! I beg your pardon! I thought Madame de Malouet was here?"

I had risen at once to my full height. 

"No, madam, she is not here. "

"Ah! excuse me. Do you know where she is?"

"I do not, madam; but I can go and ascertain, if you wish. "

"Thanks, thanks! I'll find her easily enough. The fact is, I met with alittle accident. "

"Indeed!"

"Oh, not much! a trailing limb tore the band off my hat, and my feathersdropped off. "

"Your blue feathers, madam?"

"Yes, my blue feathers. In short, I have returned to the chateau to havemy hat-band sewed on again. You are comfortable there to work?"

"Perfectly so, madam, I could not be better. "

"Are you very busy just now?"

"Well, yes, madam, rather busy. "

"Ah! I am sorry. "

"Why so?"

"Because, I had an idea. I thought of asking you to accompany me to theforest. The gentlemen will be nearly there when I am ready to startagain--and I cannot very well go on alone so far. "

While lisping this somewhat confused explanation, the Little Countess hadan expression at once sly and embarrassed, which greatly fortified thesentiment of distrust which the awkwardness of her entrance had excited inmy mind. 

"Madam, " I said, "you really distress me. I shall regret all my life tohave missed the delightful occasion you are kind enough to offer me; butit is indispensable that to-morrow's mail shall carry off this report, which the minister is expecting with extreme impatience. "

"You are afraid to lose your situation?"

"I have none to lose, madam. "

"Well, then, let the minister wait, for my sake; it will flatter me. "

"That is impossible, madam. "

She assumed a very dry tone:

"But, that is really strange! What! you are not more anxious to beagreeable to me?"

"Madam, " I replied rather dryly in my turn, "I should be extremely anxiousto be agreeable to you, but I am not at all anxious to help you win yourwager. "

I threw out that insinuation somewhat at random, resting it upon somerecollections and some slight indications which you may have been able tocollect here and there in the course of my narrative. Nevertheless, I hadhit it exactly. Madame de Palme blushed up to her ear, stammered out twoor three words which I failed to catch, and left the room, having lost allcountenance. 

This precipitate retreat left me quite confused myself. I cannot admitthat we should carry out our respect for the weaker sex so far as to lendourselves to every caprice and every enterprise it may please a woman todirect against our peace or our dignity; but our right of legitimateself-defense in such encounters is circumscribed within narrow anddelicate limits, which I feared I had over-stepped. It was enough thatMadame de Palme should be alone in the world, and without any otherprotection than her sex, to make it seem extremely painful to me to havethoughtlessly yielded to the irritation, just though it might be, whichher impertinent insistence had aroused. As I was endeavoring to establishbetween our respective wrongs a balance that might serve to quiet myscruples, there was another knock at the library-door. This time, it wasMadame de Malouet who came in. She was much moved. 

"Do tell me what has taken place, " she said. 

I gave her full and minute particulars of my interview with Madame dePalme, and, while expressing much regret at my vivacity, I added that thelady's conduct toward me was inexplicable; that she had taken me twicewithin twenty-four hours for the subject of her wagers, and that it was agreat deal too much attention, on her part, for a man who asked her, as asole favor, not to trouble herself about him any more than he troubledhimself about her. 

"Mon Dieu!" said the kind marquise, "I have no fault to find with you. Ihave been able to appreciate with my own eyes, during the past few days, your conduct and her own. But all this is very disagreeable. That childhas just thrown herself in my arms weeping terribly. She says you havetreated her like a creature--"

I protested: "I have repeated to you, word for word, madam, what passedbetween us. "

"It was not your words, it was your expression, your tone. MonsieurGeorge, let me speak frankly with you: are you afraid of falling in lovewith Madame de Palme?"

"Not in the least, madam. "

"Are you anxious that she should fall in love with you?"

"Neither, I assure you. "

"Well, then, do me a favor; lay aside your pride for one day, and escortMadame de Palme to the hunt. "

"Madam!"

"The advice may seem singular to you. But rest assured that I do not offerit without mature reflection. The repulsion which you manifest for Madamede Palme is precisely what attracts toward you that imperious and spoiltchild. She becomes irritated and obstinate in presence of a resistance towhich she has not been accustomed. Be meek enough to yield to her fancy. Do that for me. "

"Seriously madam, you think?--"

"I think, " interrupted the old lady laughingly, "with due respect to you, that you will lose your principal merit in her eyes as soon as she seesyou submit to her yoke like all the rest. "

"Really, madam, you present things to me under an entirely novel aspect. It never occurred to me to attribute Madame de Palme's mischievous pranksto a sentiment of which I might have reason to be proud. "

"And you have been quite right, " she resumed sharply; "there is, thankheaven! nothing of the kind as yet; but it might have come and you are toofair a man to desire it, with the views which I know you to entertain. "

"I trust myself wholly to your direction, madam; I am going too fetch myhat and gloves. The question is now, how Madame de Palme will receive mysomewhat tardy civility. "

"She will receive it very well, if you offer it with good grace. "

"As to that, madam, I shall offer it with all the good grace I cancommand. "

On this assurance, Madame de Malouet held out her hand, which I kissedwith profound respect but rather slim gratitude. 

When I entered the parlor, booted and spurred, Madame de Palme was alonethere; deeply seated in an arm-chair, buried under her skirts, she wasputting the finishing touches to her hat. She raised and dropped rapidlyagain her eyes, which were fiery red. 

"Madam, " I said, "I am sincerely so sorry to have offended you, that Iventure to ask your pardon for an unpardonable piece of rudeness. I havecome to hold myself at your disposition; if you decline my escort, youwill not only be inflicting upon me an amply deserved mortification, butyou will leave me still more unhappy than I have been guilty, and that issaying a great deal. " Madame de Palme, taking into consideration theemotion of my voice rather more than my diplomatic pathos, lifted her eyesupon me again, opened her lips slightly, said nothing, and finallyadvanced a somewhat tremulous hand, which I hastened to receive within myown. She availed herself at once of this _point d'appui_ to get on herfeet, and bounded lightly to the floor. A few minutes later, we were bothon horseback and leaving the court-yard of the chateau. 

We reached the extremity of the avenue without having exchanged a singleword. I felt deeply, as you may believe, how much this silence, on my partat least, was awkward, stiff, and ridiculous; but, as it often happens incircumstances which demand most imperatively the resources of eloquence, Iwas stricken with an invincible sterility of mind. I tried in vain to findsome plausible subject of conversation, and the more annoyed I felt atfinding none, the less capable I became of doing so. 

"Suppose we have a run?" said Madame de Palme suddenly. 

"Let us have a run!" I said; and we started at a gallop, to my infiniterelief. 

Nevertheless, it became absolutely necessary to check our speed at theentrance of the tortuous path that leads down into the valley of theruins. The care required to guide our horses during that difficult descentserved for a few minutes longer as a pretext for my silence; but, onreaching the level ground of the valley, I saw that I must speak at anycost, and I was about to begin with some commonplace remark, when Madamede Palme was kind enough to anticipate me:

"They say, sir, that you are very witty?"

"You may judge for yourself, madam, " I replied laughingly. 

"Rather difficult so far, even if I were able, which you are very far fromconceding. Oh! you need not deny it! Its perfectly useless, after theconversation which chance made me overhear the other night. "

"I have made so many mistakes concerning you, madam, you must realize thepitiful confusion I feel toward you. "

"And in what respect have you been mistaken?"

"In all respects, I believe. "

"You are not quite sure? Admit at least that I am a good-natured woman. "

"Oh! with all my heart, madam!"

"You said that well. I believe you think it. You are not bad either, Ibelieve, and yet you have been cruelly so to me. "

"That is true. "

"What sort of man are you, then, pray?" resumed the Little Countess in herbrief and abrupt tone; "I cannot understand it very well. By what right, on what ground, do you despise me? Suppose I am really guilty of all theintrigues which are attributed to me; what is that to you? Are you a saintyourself? a reformer? Have you never gone astray? Are you any morevirtuous than other men of your age and condition? What right have you todespise me? Explain!"

"Were I guilty of the sentiments which you attribute to me, madam, Ishould answer, that never has any one, either in your sex or mine, takenhis own morality as the rule of his opinion and his judgment upon others;we live as we can, and we judge as we should; it is more particularly avery frequent inconsistency among men, to frown down unmercifully the veryweaknesses which they encourage and of which they derive the benefit. Formy part, I hold severely aloof from a degree of austerity as ridiculous ina man as uncharitable in a Christian. And as to that unfortunateconversation which a deplorable chance caused you to hear, and in which myexpressions, as it always happens, went far beyond the measure of mythought, it is an offense which I can never obliterate, I know; but Ishall at least explain frankly. Every one has his own tastes and his ownway of understanding life in this world; we differ so much, you and I, andyou conceived for me, at first sight, an extreme antipathy. Thisdisposition, which, on one side at least, madam, was to be singularlymodified on better acquaintance, prompted me to some thoughtlessmanifestations of ill-humor and vivacity of controversy. You havedoubtless suffered, madam, from the violence of my language, but muchless, I beg you to believe, than I was to suffer from it myself, after Ihad recognized its profound and irreparable injustice. "

This apology, more sincere than lucid, drew forth no answer. We were atthis moment just coming out of the old abbey church, and we foundourselves unexpectedly mingled in the last ranks of the cavalcade. Ourappearance caused a suppressed murmur to run through the dense crowd ofhunters. Madame de Palme was at once surrounded by a merry throng thatseemed to address congratulations to her on the winning of her wager. Shereceived them with an indifferent and pouting look, whipped up her horse, and made her way to the front before entering the forest. 

In the meantime, Monsieur de Malouet had received me with still morecordial affability than usual, and without making any direct allusion tothe accident which had brought me against my will to this cynegetic feast, he omitted no attention that could make me forget its trifling annoyance. Soon after the hounds started a deer, and I followed them with keenrelish, being by no means indifferent to that manly pastime, though it isnot sufficient for my happiness in this world. 

The pack was thrown off the scent two or three times, and the deer had thebest of the day. At about four o'clock we started on our way back to thechateau. When we crossed the valley on our return, the twilight wasalready marking out more clearly upon the sky the outline of the trees andthe crest of the hills; a melancholy shade was falling upon the woods, anda whitish fog chilled the grass on the meadows, while a thicker mistindicated the sinuous course of the little river. As I remained absorbedin the contemplation of the scene which reminded me of better days, Idiscovered suddenly Madame de Palme at my side. 

"I believe, after due reflection, " she said with her usual brusqueness, "that you scorn my ignorance and my lack of wit much more than my supposedwant of morality. You think less of virtue than you do of intelligence. Isthat it?"

"Certainly not, " I said, laughingly; "that isn't it; that isn't it at all. In the first place, the word scorn must be suppressed, having nothing todo here; then, I don't much believe in your ignorance, and not at all inyour lack of wit. Finally, I see nothing above virtue, when I see it atall, which is not often. Furthermore, madam, I feel confused at theimportance you attach to my opinion. The secret of my likes and dislikesis quite simple; I have, as I was telling you, the most religious respectfor virtue, but all mine is limited to a deep-seated sentiment of a fewessential duties which I practice as best I can; I could not therefore askany more of others. As to the intellect, I confess that I value itgreatly, and life seems too serious a matter to me to be treated on thefooting of a perpetual ball, from the cradle to the grave. Moreover, theproductions of the mind, works of art in particular, are the object of mymost passionate preoccupations, and it is natural that I should like beingable to speak of what interests me. That's all. "

"Is it absolutely necessary to be forever talking of the ecstasies of thesoul, of cemeteries, and the Venus of Milo, in order to obtain in youropinion the rank of a serious woman and a woman of taste? But, after all, you are right; I never think; if I did for one single minute, it seems tome that I should go mad, that my head would split. And what were youthinking about yourself, in that old convent cell?"

"I thought a great deal about you, " I replied gayly, "on the evening ofthat day when you hunted me down so unmercifully, and I abused you mostheartily. "

"I can understand that. " She began laughing, looking all around her, andadded: "What a lovely valley! what a delightful evening! And now, are youstill disposed to abuse me?"

"Now, I wish from the bottom of my soul I were able to do something foryour happiness. "

"And I for yours, " she said, quietly. 

I bowed for all answer, and a brief pause followed:

"If I were a man, " suddenly said Madame de Palme, "I believe I would liketo be a hermit. "

"Oh! what a pity!"

"That idea does not surprise you?"

"No, madam. "

"Nothing from me would surprise you, I suppose. You believe me capable ofanything--of anything, perhaps even of being fond of you?"

"Why not? Greater wonders have been seen! Am I not fond of you myself atthe present moment? That's a fine example to follow!"

"You must give me time to think about it?"

"Not long!"

"As long as it may be necessary. We are friends in the meantime?"

"If we are friends, there is nothing further to expect, " I said, holdingout my hand frankly to the Little Countess. I felt that she was pressingit lightly, and the conversation ended there. We had reached the top ofthe hills; it was now quite dark, and we galloped all the rest of the wayto the chateau. 

As I was coming down from my room for dinner, I met Madame de Malouet inthe vestibule. 

"Well!" she said, laughingly, "did you conform to the prescription?"

"Rigidly, madam. "

"You showed yourself subjugated?

"I did, madam. "

"Excellent! She is satisfied now, and so are you. "

"Amen!" I said. 

The evening passed off without further incident. 

I took pleasure in doing for Madame de Palme some trifling services whichshe was no longer asking. She left the dance two or three times to comeand address me some good-natured jests that passed through her brain, andwhen I withdrew, she followed me to the door with a smiling and cordiallook. 

I ask you now, friend Paul, to sift the precise meaning and the moral ofthis tale. You may perhaps judge, and I hope you will, that a chimericalimagination can alone magnify into an event this vulgar episode of societylife; but if you see in the facts I have just told you the least germ ofdanger, the slightest element of a serious complication, tell me so; I'llbreak the engagements that were to detain me here some ten or twelve dayslonger, and I'll leave at once. 

I do not love Madame de Palme; I cannot and will not love her. My opinionof her has evidently changed greatly; I look upon her henceforth as a goodlittle woman. Her head is light and will always be so; her behavior isbetter than she gets credit for, though perhaps not as good as sherepresents it herself; finally, her heart has both weight and value. Ifeel some friendship for her, an affection that has something fraternal init; but between her and me, nothing further is at all likely; the expanseof the heavens divides us. The idea of being her husband makes me burstout laughing, and though a sentiment which you will readily appreciate, the thought of being her lover inspires me with horror. As to her, Ibelieve she may feel the shadow of a caprice, but not even the dawn of apassion. Here I am now upon her etagere with the rest of the figure-heads, and I think, as does Madame de Malouet, that may be enough to satisfy her. However, what do you think of it yourself?

[B] The German. 

CHAPTER VII. 

A MISDIRECTED PASSION. 

_7th October. _

Dear Paul, I take part in your grief from the bottom of my heart. Allowme, however, to assure you, from the very details of your own letter thatyour dear mother's illness offers no alarming symptoms whatever. It isone of those painful but harmless crises which the approach of winterbrings back upon her almost invariably every year, as you know. Patiencetherefore, and courage, I beseech you. 

It requires, my friend, the formal expression of your wishes to induce meto venture upon mingling my petty troubles with your grave solicitude. Asyou anticipated in your wisdom and in your kind friendship, it wasconsolation and not advice that I stood in need of when I received yourletter. My heart is not at peace, and, what is worse for me, neither is myconscience; and yet, I think I have done my duty. Have I understood itright or not? Judge for yourself. 

I take up my situation toward Madame de Palme where I had left it in mylast letter. The day after our mutual explanation, I took every care tomaintain our relations upon the footing of good-fellowship on which theyseemed established, and which constituted, in my idea, the only sort ofintelligence desirable and even possible between us. It seemed to me, onthat day, that she manifested the same vivacity and the same spirit asusual; yet I fancied that her voice and her look, when she addressed me, assumed a meek gravity which is not part of her usual disposition; but onthe following days, though I had not deviated from the line of conduct Ihad marked out for myself, it became impossible for me not to notice thatMadame de Palme had lost something of her gayety, and that a vaguepreoccupation clouded the serenity of her brow. I could see herdancing-partners surprised at her frequent absence of mind; she stillfollowed the whirl, but she no longer led it. Under pretext of fatigue, she would leave suddenly and abruptly her partner's arm, in the midst of awaltz, to go and sit in some corner with a pensive and even a poutinglook. If there happened to be a vacant seat next to mine, she threwherself into it, and began from behind her fan some whimsical anddisjointed conversation like the following:

"If I cannot be a hermit, I am going to become a nun. What would you say, if you saw me enter a convent to-morrow?"

"I should say that you would leave it the day after to-morrow. "

"You have no confidence in my resolutions?"

"When they are unwise, no. "

"I can only form unwise ones, according to you?"

"According to me, you waltz admirably. When a person waltzes as you do, it's an art, almost a virtue. "

"Is it customary to flatter one's friends?"

"I am not flattering you. I never speak a single word to you that I havenot carefully weighed, and that is not the most earnest expression of mythought. I am a serious man, madam. "

"It does not seem so when you are with me. I verily believe, however, youhave undertaken to make me hate laughter as much as I used to like it. "

"I do not understand you. "

"How do you think I look to-night?"

"Dazzling!"

"That's too much! I know that I am not handsome. "

"I don't say you are handsome, but you are extremely graceful. "

"That's better; and it must be true, for I feel it. The Malabar Widow isreally handsome. "

"Yes, I should like to see her at the funeral pile. "

"To jump into it with her?"

"Exactly. "

"Do you expect to leave soon?"

"Next week, I believe. "

"Will you come and see me in Paris?"

"If you will allow me. "

"No, I don't allow you. "

"And why not? great heavens!"

"In the first place, I don't think I am going back to Paris myself. "

"That's a good reason. And where do you expect to go, madam?"

"I don't know. Let us make a pedestrian tour somewhere, you and Itogether; will you?"

"I should like nothing better. When shall we start?"

_Et cetera_. I shall not tire you, my friend, with the particulars of somedozen similar conversations, every occasion of which for four days Madamede Palme evidently sought. There was on her part a constantly growingeffort to leave aside all commonplace topics, and impart to our interviewsa character of greater intimacy; there was on mine an equal amount ofobstinacy in confining them within the strictest limits of social jargon, and remaining resolutely on the ground of worldly futility. 

I now come to the scene that was to bring this painful struggle to aclose, and unfortunately prove all its vanity to me. 

Monsieur and Madame de Malouet were giving last night a grand farewellball to their daughter, whose husband has been recalled to his post ofduty, and the whole neighborhood within a circuit of ten leagues had beensummoned to the feast. Toward ten o'clock an immense crowd was overflowingthe vast ground floor of the chateau, in which the elegant dresses, thelights, and the flowers were mingled in dazzling confusion. As I wastrying to make my way into the main drawing-room, I found myself face toface with Madame de Malouet, who drew me slightly aside. 

"Well! my dear sir, " she said, "I do not like the looks of things. "

"Mon Dieu! what is there new?"

"I don't know exactly, but be on your guard. Ah! mon Dieu! I haveremarkable confidence in you, sir; you will not take advantage of her, will you?"

Her voice was tender and her eyes moist. 

"You may rely upon me, madam; but I sincerely wish I had gone a week ago. "

"Eh! mon Dieu! who could have foreseen such a thing? Hush! there shecomes!"

I turned round and saw Madame de Palme coming out of the parlor; beforeher the throng opened with that timorous eagerness and that species ofterror which the supreme elegance of one of society's queens generallyinspires in our sex. For the first time, Madame de Palme appeared handsometo me; the expression of her countenance was wholly novel to me, and aweird animation gleamed in her eyes and transfigured her features. 

"Am I to your taste?" she said. 

I manifested by I know not what movement an assent, which was moreover buttoo evident to the keen eye of a woman. 

"I was looking for you, " she added, "to show you the conservatory; it'sfairy-like. Come!"

She took my arm, and we started in the direction of the conservatory doorwhich opened at the other end of the parlor, extending as far as the park, through the vines and the perfumes of hundreds of exotic plants, all thesplendors of the feast. While we were admiring the effect of thegirandoles that sparkled amid the luxuriant tropical flora like the brightconstellations of another hemisphere, several gentlemen came to claimMadame de Palme's hand for a waltz; she refused them all, though I wassufficiently disinterested to join my entreaties to theirs. 

"Our respective roles seem to me somewhat inverted, " she said: "it is Iwho am detaining you, and you wish to get rid of me!"

"Heaven preserve me from such an idea! but I am afraid lest you maydeprive yourself, out of kindness to me, of a pleasure you are so fondof. "

"No! I know very well that I seek you and you avoid me. It is ratherabsurd in the eyes of the world, but I care nothing for that. For this oneevening at least, I mean to amuse myself as I like. I forbid you todisturb my happiness. I am really very happy. I have everything Irequire--beautiful flowers, excellent music around me, and a friend at myside. Only--and that's a dark spot on my blue sky--I am much more certainof the music and the flowers than I am of the friend. "

"You are entirely wrong. "

"Explain your conduct, then, once for all. Why will you never talkseriously with me? Why do you obstinately refuse to tell me one singleword that savors of confidence, of intimacy--of friendship, in a word?"

"Please reflect for a minute, madam; where would that lead us to?"

"What is that to you? That would lead us where it would. It is singularthat you should be more anxious about it than I am. "

"Come, what would you think of me if I ventured to speak of love to you?"

"I don't ask you to make love to me!" she said, sharply. 

"I know it, madam; and yet it is the inevitable turn my language wouldtake if it ceased for a moment to be frivolous and commonplace. Now, admitthat there is one man in the world who could not speak of love to youwithout incurring your contempt, and that I am that very man. I cannot saythat I am very much pleased with having placed myself in such a position;but, after all, it is so, and I cannot forget it. "

"That is showing a great deal of judgment. "

"That is showing a great deal of courage. "

She shook her head with an air of doubt, and resumed after a moment ofsilence:

"Do you know that you have just spoken to me as if I were what is called a'fast' woman?"

"Oh! madam!"

"Of course, you think that I can never attribute to a man who pays hisaddresses to me any but improper intentions. If it were so, I woulddeserve being called a 'fast' woman, and I do not. I know you don'tbelieve it, but it is the pure truth, as there is a God--yes, as there isa God! God knows me, and I pray to Him much oftener than is thought. Hehas kept me from doing harm thus far, and I hope He will keep me from itforever; but it is a thing of which He has not the sole control--" Shestopped for a moment, and then added in a firm tone:

"You can do much toward it. "

"I, madam?"

"I have allowed you to take, I know not how--I really do not know how!--agreat influence over my destiny. Will you be willing to use it? That isthe question. "

"And in what capacity could I do so, pray, madam?" I said slowly and in atone of cold reserve. 

"Ah!" she exclaimed, in a hoarse and energetic accent, "how can you ask methat? It is too hard! you humiliate me too much!"

She left my arm and returned abruptly into the parlor. I remained for sometime uncertain as to what course to pursue. I thought first of followingMadame de Palme and explaining to her that she was mistaken--which wastrue--as to the interrogative answer which had offended her. She hadapplied that answer to some thought that pervaded her mind, which I didnot understand, or at least which her words had revealed to me much lessclearly than she had imagined; but after thinking over it, I shrank fromthe new and formidable explanation which such a course must inevitablybring about. 

I left the conservatory, and walked into the garden to escape the hum ofthe ball-room, which importuned my ears. The night was cold but beautiful. With my heart still filled with the bitterness of this scene, I wanderedinstinctively beyond the luminous zone projected around the chateauthrough the apertures of the resplendent windows. I walked rapidly towarda double row of spruce trees, crossed by a rustic bridge thrown over asmall brook which divided the garden from the park, and where the shadewas more dense. I had just reached this somber spot, when a hand was laidon my arm and stopped me; at the same time a short and troubled voice, which I could not mistake, said:

"I must speak to you!"

"Madam! for mercy's sake! in the name of Heaven! what are you doing? youwill ruin your reputation! Do return to the house! Come, come, let meescort you back!"

I attempted to seize her arm, but she eluded my grasp. 

"I want to speak to you--I have decided to do so. Oh, mon Dieu! howawkwardly I do go about it, don't I? You must believe me more than ever amiserable creature! and yet there is nothing in it, not a thing; it's thetruth, the pure truth, mon ami! You are the first man for whose sake Ihave forgotten--all that I am now forgetting! Yes, the first! Never hasany other man heard from my lips a single word of tenderness, never! Andyou do not believe!"

I took both her hands in mine:

"I believe you, I swear it--I swear that I esteem you--that I respect youas a beloved daughter--but listen to me; pray, listen! do not brave openlythis pitiless world--return to the ball-room--I'll join you there soon, Ipromise you--but in the name of Heaven, do not compromise your fair fame!"

The poor child melted into tears, and I felt that she was staggering; Isupported her and helped her to a seat on a bench close by. I remainedstanding before her, holding one of her hands. The darkness was intensearound us; I gazed into space, and I listened, in a state of vague stupor, to the clear and regular murmur of the brook flowing under the sprucetrees, to the convulsive sobs that swelled the unhappy woman's bosom, andto the odious sounds of revelry which the orchestra sent us at intervalsfrom afar. It was one of those moments that can never be forgotten. 

She succeeded in mastering her grief at last, and seemed, after thisexplosion, to recover all her firmness. 

"Monsieur, " she said, rising and withdrawing her hand, "have no fearsabout my reputation. The world is accustomed to my follies. However, Ihave taken care that the present one shall not be noticed. Besides, Iwould not care if it was. You are the only man whose esteem I have everdesired, and, unfortunately the only one also whose contempt I haveincurred--that is most cruel!--and yet something must tell you that I donot deserve it. "

"Madam!"

"Listen to me! and may God convince you. This is a solemn hour in myexistence. Since the first glance you ever cast upon me, sir--on that daywhen I went up to you while you were sketching the old church--since thatfirst glance, I belonged to you. I have never loved, I shall never loveany man but you. Will you take me for your wife? I am worthy of it--Iswear it to you in the presence of that Heaven which is looking down uponus!"

"Dear madam--dear child--your kindness, your affection move me to thedepths of my soul; in mercy, be more calm; let me retain a gleam ofreason!"

"Ah! if your heart speaks, listen to it, sir! It is not with reason that Ican be judged! Alas! I feel it! you still doubt me, you still doubt mypast life. Oh, Heavens! that opinion of the world which I have alwaysscorned, how it is killing me now!"

"No, madam, you are mistaken; but what could I offer you in exchange forall you wish to sacrifice for my sake--for the habits, the tastes, thepleasures of your whole life?"

"But that life inspires me with horror! You think that I would regret it?You think that some day I may again become the woman I have been, themadcap you have known?--you think so! And how can I help your believingit? And yet I know very well that I would never cause you that sorrow, norany other--never! I have discovered in your eyes a new world I did notknow--a more dignified, more lofty world, of which I had never conceivedthe idea--and outside of which I can no longer live. Ah! you mustcertainly feel that I am telling you the truth!"

"Yes, madam, you are telling me the truth--the truth of the hour--of amoment of fever and excitement; but this new world, which appears dimly toyou now--this ideal world in which you desire to seek an eternal refugeagainst mere transient evils--would never keep all it seems to promise. Disappointment, regret, misery await you within it--and do not await youalone. I know not if there be a man gifted with a sufficiently noble mind, with a sufficiently lofty soul to make you love the new existence of whichyou are dreaming to preserve in the reality the almost divine characterwhich your imagination imparts to it; but I do know that such a task, sweet as it might be, is beyond my strength; I would be insane, I would bea wretch, if I were to accept it. "

"Is that your final decision? Cannot reflection alter it in any way?"

"In no way. "

"Farewell then, sir--ah! unhappy woman that I am!--farewell!"

She grasped my hand, which she wrung convulsively, and then left me. 

After she had disappeared, I sat down on the bench, upon which she hadbeen seated. There, my dear Paul, my whole strength gave way. I hid myhead in my hands and I wept like a child. Thank God, she did not return!

I had at last to gather all my courage in order to appear once more andfor a moment in the ball-room. There was nothing to indicate that myabsence had been noticed, or unfavorably commented upon. Madame de Palmewas dancing and displaying a degree of gayety amounting almost todelirium. Soon after, supper was announced, and I availed myself of thegeneral commotion attending that incident, to retire to my room. 

Early this morning, I requested a private interview with Madame deMalouet. It appeared to me that my entire confidence was due to her. Sheheard me with profound sadness, but without manifesting any surprise. 

"I had guessed, " she told me, "something of the kind--I did not sleep allnight. I believe that you have done your duty as a wise man and as anhonest man. Yes, you have. Still, it seems very hard. Society life isdetestable in this, that it creates fictitious characters and passions, unexpected situations, subtle shades, which complicate strangely thepractice of duty, and obscure the straight path which ought to be alwayssimple and easy to discover. And now you wish to leave, I suppose?"

"Certainly, madam. "

"Very well; but you had better stay two or three days longer. You willthus remove from your departure the semblance of flight which, after whatmay have been observed, might prove somewhat ridiculous and perhapsdamaging. It is a sacrifice I ask of you. To-day, we are all to dine atMadame de Breuilly's; I'll undertake to excuse you. In this manner, thisday at least will rest lightly upon you. To-morrow, we'll act for thebest. Day after to-morrow, you can leave. "

I accepted these terms. I shall soon see you again, then, Paul. But in themeantime, how lonely and forsaken I feel! How I long to grasp your firmand loyal hand; to hear your voice tell me: "You have done right!"

CHAPTER VIII. 

"I AM A DISGRACED WOMAN. "

ROZEL, _October 10_. 

Here I am back in my cell, my friend. Why did I ever leave it? Never hasa man felt a more troubled heart beat between these cold walls, thanmy own wretched heart! Ah! I will not curse our poor human reason, ourphilosophy; are they not, after all, the noblest and best conquests of ournature? But, great Heaven! how little they amount to! What unreliableguides, and what feeble supports! Listen to a sad story: Yesterday, thanks to Madame de Malouet, I remained alone at the chateau thewhole day and the whole evening. I was therefore as much at peace asit was possible for me to be. Toward midnight I heard the carriagesreturning, and soon after all noise ceased. It was, I think, about threeo'clock in the morning when I was aroused from the species of torpor thathas stood me in lieu of sleep for the past few nights, by the sound quiteclose to me, of a door cautiously opened or closed in the yard. I knownot by what strange and sudden connection of ideas so simple anincident attracted my attention and disturbed my mind. I left abruptlythe arm-chair in which I had been slumbering, and I went up to awindow. I distinctly saw a man moving off with discreet steps in thedirection of the avenue. I had no difficulty in satisfying myself that thedoor through which he had just passed, was that which gives access tothe wing of the chateau contiguous to the library. This part of the housecontains several rooms devoted to transient guests; I knew that all werevacant at this moment, unless Madame de Palme, as it often happened, had occupied for the night the lodging that was always set apart for herin that wing. 

You may guess what strange thought floated across my brain. I repelled itat first as sheer madness; but remembering, within the field of mysomewhat extended experience, certain facts that lent probability to thatthought, I entertained it with a sort of cynical irony, and I was almostready to admit it, as an odious but decisive denouement. The early dawnfound me struggling still in this mental anguish, calling up myrecollections, examining in a childish way the most minute circumstancesthat might tend to confirm or to banish my suspicions. Excess of fatigue, brought on at last two hours of prostration, from which I emerged with abetter command of my reason. It was impossible for me to doubt the realityof the apparition that had struck my eyes during the night; but itappeared to me that I had put upon it a hasty and senseless construction, and that my ailing spirit had attributed to it the least likelyexplanation. 

I went down at half past ten o'clock as usual. Madame de Palme was in theparlor; she must therefore have spent the night at the chateau. Nevertheless, a mere glance at her was enough to remove from my mind thevery shadow of suspicion. She was talking quietly in the center of agroup. She greeted me with her usual gentle smile. I felt relieved of animmense weight. I was escaping a torment of such a painful and bitternature, that the positive impression of my previous grief, freed from thedisgraceful complications with which I had for a moment thought itaggravated, appeared almost pleasant. Never had my heart rendered to thiswoman a more tender and more sincere homage. I was grateful to her fromthe bottom of my soul, for having restored purity to my wound and to mymemory. 

The afternoon was to be devoted to a horseback ride along the sea-shore. In the effusion of heart that succeeded the anxieties of the night, Iyielded quite readily to the entreaties of Monsieur de Malouet, who, arguing on my approaching departure, was urging me to accompany him onthis excursion. It was about two o'clock when our cavalcade, recruited asusual by a few young men of the neighborhood, marched out of the chateau'sgate. We had been traveling merrily for a few minutes, and I was not theleast merry of the band, when Madame de Palme suddenly came to take herplace by my side. 

"I am about to be guilty of a base deed, " she said; "and yet, I had sostrongly resolved--but I am choking!"

I looked at her; the haggard expression of her eyes and of her featuressuddenly struck me with terror. 

"Well!" she went on, in a voice of which I shall never forget the tone, "you have willed it so! I am a disgraced woman!"

She urged at once her horse forward, leaving me crushed by this blow, themore terrible that I had wholly ceased to fear it, and that it struck mewith a keen cruelty I had not even foreseen. There had indeed been in theunhappy woman's voice no trace whatever of insolent swaggering; it was thevery voice of despair, a cry of heart-rending grief and timid reproach;everything that might add in my soul to the torture of a stained andshattered love, the disorder of a profound pity and an uneasy conscience. 

When I had found strength enough to look around me I was surprised at myown blindness. Among Madame de Palme's most assiduous courtiers, figuresone Monsieur de Mauterne, whose antipathy for me, though confined withinthe limits of good-breeding, often seemed to me to assume an almosthostile tinge. Monsieur de Mauterne is a man of my age, tall, blonde, witha figure more robust than elegant, and features regularly handsome, butstiff and without expression. He possesses social accomplishments, muchaudacity, and no wit. His bearing and his conduct during the course ofthat fatal ride would have informed me from the start, if I had onlythought of observing them, that he believed he had the right of fearinghenceforth no rivalry near Madame de Palme. He assumed frankly the leadingpart in all the scenes in which she participated; he overwhelmed her withattentions, affected to speak to her in a whisper, and neglected nothing, in a word, to initiate the public into the secret of his success. In thatrespect, he lost his trouble; the world, after exhausting its wickednessupon imaginary errors, seems thus far to refuse the evidence which vainlystares it in the face. 

As to myself, my friend, it would be difficult to depict the chaos ofemotions and thoughts that tossed and tumbled in my brain. The feelingthat swayed me perhaps with the greatest violence, was that of hatredagainst that man--a feeling of implacable hatred, of eternal hatred. Iwas, however, more shocked and more distressed than surprised at thechoice that had been made of him; he had happened in the way, and he hadbeen taken up with a sort of indifference and of scorn, as one picks upany weapon to commit suicide with, when once the suicide has been resolvedupon. As to my feelings toward her, you may guess them; not a shadow ofanger, frightful sadness, tender compassion, vague remorse, and above all, passionate, furious regret. I realized at last how much I had loved her! Icould scarcely understand the motives which, two days before, had appearedto me so powerful, so imperative, and which had seemed to raise betweenher and me an insurmountable barrier. All these obstacles of the pastdisappeared before the abyss of the present which seemed the only realone, the only one that was impossible to overcome, the only one that everexisted. Strange fact! I could see clearly, as clearly as I saw the sun, that the impossible, the irreparable was there, and I could not accept it, I could not submit to it. I could see that woman lost to me as irrevocablyas if the grave had closed over her coffin, and I could not give her up!My mind wandered through insane projects and resolutions; I thought ofpicking a quarrel with Monsieur de Mauterne, and compelling him to fighton the spot. I felt that I would have crushed him! Then I thought offleeing with her, of marrying her, of taking her with her shame, afterhaving refused her pure! Yes, this madness tempted me! To remove it frommy thoughts, I had to repeat a hundred times to myself that mutual disgustand dispair were the only fruits that could ever be expected of that unionof a dishonored hand with a bloody hand. Ah; Paul, how much I did suffer!

Madame de Palme manifested during the entire course of our ride a feverishexcitement which betrayed itself more particularly in reckless feats ofhorsemanship. I heard at intervals her loud bursts of merriment, thatsounded to my ears like heart-rending wails. Once again she spoke to me asshe was going by. 

"I inspire you with horror, don't I?" she said. 

I shook my head and dropped my eyes without replying. 

We returned to the chateau at about four o'clock. I was making my way tomy room when a confused tumult of voices, shrieks, and hurried steps inthe vestibule chilled my heart. I went down again in all haste, and I wasinformed that Madame de Palme had just been taken with a nervous fit. Shehad been carried into the parlor. I recognized through the door the graveand gentle voice of Madame de Malouet, to which was mingled I know notwhat moan, like that of a sick child. I ran away. I was resolved to leavethis fatal spot without further delay. Nothing could have induced me toremain a moment longer. Your letter, which had been handed to me on ourreturn, served me as a likely pretext for my sudden departure. Thefriendship that binds us is well-known here. I said you needed me withintwenty-four hours. I had taken care, at all hazards, to send three daysbefore to the nearest town for a carriage and horses. In a few minutes mypreparations were made; I gave orders to the driver to start ahead andwait for me at the extremity of the avenue while I was taking my leave. Monsieur de Malouet seemed to have no suspicion of the truth; the worthyold gentleman appeared quite moved as he received my thanks, and reallymanifested for me a singular affection out of all proportion to the briefduration of our acquaintance. I had to be scarcely less thankful to M. DeBreuilly. I regret now the caricature I once gave you as the portrait ofthat noble heart. 

Madame de Malouet insisted upon accompanying me down the avenue a fewsteps farther than her husband. I felt her arm trembling under mine whileshe was intrusting me with a few trifling errands for Paris. At the momentof parting, and as I was pressing her hand with effusion, she detained megently:

"Well! sir, " she said in a feeble voice, "God did not bless our wisdom. "

"Our hearts are open to Him, madam; He must have read our sincerity; Hesees how much I am suffering, and I humbly hope He may forgive me!"

"Do not doubt it--do not doubt it, " she replied in a broken voice; "butshe? she!--ah! poor child!"

"Have pity on her, madam. Do not forsake her. Farewell!"

I left her hastily, and I started, but instead of going direct to thetown, I had myself driven along the abbey road as far as the top of thehills; I requested the coachman to go alone to the town, and to return forme to-morrow morning early at the same place. I cannot explain to you, mydear friend, the singular and irresistible fancy that I took to spend onelast night in that solitude where I spent such quick and happy days, andso recently, mon Dieu!

Here I am, then, back in my cell. How cold, dark, and gloomy it seems! Thesky also has gone into mourning. Since my arrival in this neighborhood, and in spite of the season, I had seen none but summer days and nights. To-night a cold autumnal storm has burst over the valley; the wind howlsamong the ruins, blowing off fragments that fall heavily upon the ground. A driving rain is pattering against my window-panes. It seems to me as ifit were raining tears!

Tears! my heart is overflowing with them--and not a single one will riseto my eyes. And yet, I have prayed, I have long prayed to God--not, myfriend to that untangible God whom we pursue in vain beyond the stars andthe worlds, but the only true God, truly kind and helpful to sufferinghumanity, the God of my childhood, the God of that poor woman!

Ah! I wish to think now only of my approaching meeting with you, the dayafter to-morrow, dear friend, and perhaps before this letter--

 * * * * *

Come, Paul! If you can leave your mother, come, I beseech you, come touphold me. God's hand is upon me!

I was writing that interrupted line when, in the midst of the confusednoises of the tempest, I fancied I heard the sound of a voice, of a humangroan. I rushed to my window; I leaned outside to pierce the darkness, and I discovered lying upon the drenched soil a vague form, something likea white bundle. At the same time, a more distinct moan rose up to me. Agleam of the terrible truth flashed through my brain like a keen blade. Igroped through the darkness as far as the door of the mill; near thethreshold, stood a horse bearing a side-saddle. I ran madly around to theother side of the ruins, and within the inclosure situated beneath thewindow of my cell, and which still retains some traces of the formercemetery of the monks, I found the unhappy creature. She was there, sitting on an old tomb-stone, as if overwhelmed, shivering in all herlimbs under the chilling torrent of rain which a pitiless sky was pouringwithout interruption over her light party-dress. I seized her two hands, trying to raise her up. 

"Ah! unhappy child! what have you done!"

"Yes, most unhappy!" she murmured, in a voice as faint as a breath. 

"But you are killing yourself. "

"So much the better--so much the better!"

"You cannot remain there! Come!--"

I saw that she was unable to stand up alone. 

"Ah! _Dieu bon! Dieu puissant!_ what shall I do? What's to become of younow? What do you wish with me?"

She made no reply. She was trembling, and her teeth were chattering. Ilifted her up in my arms and I carried her in. The mind works fast in suchmoments. No conceivable means of removing her from this valley wherecarriages cannot penetrate; nothing was henceforth possible to save herhonor; I must only think of her life. I scaled rapidly the steps leadingto my cell, and I seated her on a chair in front of the chimney in which Ihastily kindled a fire; then I woke up my hosts. I gave to the miller'swife a vague and confused explanation. I know not how much of it sheunderstood; but she is a woman, she took pity and went on bestowing uponMadame de Palme such care as was in her power. Her husband started at onceon horseback, carrying to Madame de Malouet the following note from me:

"MADAM:--She is here, dying. In the name of the God of mercy, I beseechyou, I implore you--come to console, come to bless her who can nolonger expect words of kindness and forgiveness from any one but youin this world. 

"Pray tell Madame de Pontbrian whatever you think proper. "

She was calling me. I returned to her side. I found her still seatedbefore the fire. She had refused to be put into the bed that had beenprepared for her. When she saw me--singular womanly preoccupation!--herfirst thought was for the coarse peasant's dress she had just exchangedfor her own water-soaked and mud-stained garments. She laughed as shecalled my attention to it; but her laughter soon turned into convulsionswhich I had much difficulty in quieting. 

I had placed myself close to her; she had a consuming fever, her eyesglistened. I begged her to consent to take the absolute rest which wasalone suitable to her condition. 

"What is the use?" she replied. "I am not ill. It is not the fever that iskilling me, nor the cold, it is the thought that is burning methere;"--she touched her forehead--"it is shame--it is your scorn and yourhatred; now, alas! but too well deserved!"

My heart overflowed then, Paul; I told her everything; my passion, myregrets, my remorse! I covered with kisses her trembling hands, her coldforehead, her damp hair. I poured into her poor shattered soul all thetenderness, all the pity, all the adoration a man's soul can contain! Sheknew now that I loved her; she could not doubt it!

She listened to me with rapture. "Now, " she said, "now, I am no longer tobe pitied. I have never been so happy in all my life. I did not deserveit--I have nothing further to wish--nothing further to hope--I shall notregret anything. "

She fell into a slumber. Her parted lips are smiling a pure and placidsmile; but she is taken at intervals with terrible spasms, and herfeatures are becoming terribly altered. I am watching her while writingthese lines. 

 * * * * *

Madame de Malouet has just arrived with her husband. I had judged herrightly! Her voice and her words were those of a mother. She had takencare to bring her physician. The patient is lying in a comfortable bed, surrounded by loving and attentive friends. I feel more easy, although shehas just awakened with a fearful delirium. 

Madame de Pontbrian has positively refused to come to her niece. I hadjudged her rightly too, the excellent Christian!

I have deemed it my duty not to set foot again in the cell which Madamede Malouet no longer leaves. The expression of M. De Malouet's countenanceterrifies me, and yet he assures me that the physician has not yetpronounced. 

 * * * * *

The doctor has just come out; I have spoken to him. 

"It is pneumonia, " he told me, "complicated with brain fever. "

"It is very serious, is it not?"

"Very serious. "

"But is there any immediate danger?"

"I'll tell you that to-night. Her condition is so acute that it cannotlast long. Either the crisis must abate or nature must yield. "

He looked up to heaven and went off. 

I know not what is going on within me, my friend--all these blows arestriking me in such rapid succession. It is the lightning!

FIVE O'CLOCK P. M. 

The old priest whom I have often met at the chateau has been sent for inhaste. He is a friend of Madame de Malouet, a simple old man, full ofcharity; I dared not question him. I know not what is going on. I fear tohear, and yet my ear catches eagerly the least noises, the mostinsignificant sounds; a closing door, a rapid step on the stairs strikesme dumb with terror. And yet--so quick! it seems impossible!

 * * * * *

Paul, my friend--my brother! where are you?--all is over!

An hour ago I saw the doctor and the priest coming down. Monsieur deMalouet was following them. 

"Go up, " he told me. "Come, courage, sir. Be a man!" I walked into thecell; Madame de Malouet had remained alone there; she was kneeling by thebedside and beckoned me to approach. I gazed upon her who was about tocease suffering. A few hours had been enough to stamp upon that lovelyface all the ravages of death; but life and thought still lingered in hereyes; she recognized me at once. 

"Monsieur, " she began; then, after a pause: "George, I have loved youmuch. Forgive my having embittered your life with the memory of thissad incident!"

I fell on my knees; I tried to speak, I could not; my tears flowed hot andfast upon her hand already cold and inert as a piece of marble. 

"And you, too, madam, " she added; "forgive me the trouble I have givenyou--the grief I am causing you now. "

"My child!" said the old lady, "I bless you from the bottom of my heart. "

Then there was a pause, in the midst of which I suddenly heard a deep andbroken breath--ah! that supreme breath, that last sob of a deadly sorrow;God also has heard it, has received it!

He has heard it--He hears also my ardent, my weeping prayer. I mustbelieve that He does, my friend. Yes, that I may not yield at this momentto some temptation of despair, I must firmly believe in a God who lovesus, who looks with compassionate eyes upon the anguish of our feeblehearts--who will deign some day to tie again with His paternal hand theknots broken by cruel death!--ah! in presence of the lifeless remains of abeloved being, what heart so withered, what brain so blighted by doubt, asnot to repel forever the odious thought that these sacred words: God, Justice, Love, Immortality--are but vain syllables devoid of meaning!

Farewell, Paul. You know what there still remains for me to do. If you cancome, I expect you; if not, my friend, expect me. Farewell!

CHAPTER IX. 

A CHALLENGE AND DUEL. 

THE MARQUIS DE MALOUET TO PAUL B----, PARIS. 

CHATEAU DE MALOUET. _October 20_. 

Monsieur:--It has become my imperative though painful duty to relate toyou the facts which have brought about the crowning disaster of which youhave already been advised, by more rapid means and with such precautionsas we were able to take; a disaster that completely overwhelms our soulsalready so cruelly tried. As you are aware, sir, a few weeks, a few dayshad been sufficient to enable Madame de Malouet and myself to know andappreciate your friend, to conceive for him an eternal affection soon, alas! to be changed into eternal regret. You are also aware, I know, ofall the sad circumstances that preceded and led to this sad catastrophe. 

Monsieur George's conduct during the melancholy days that followed thedeath of Madame de Palme, the depth of feeling as well as the elevation ofsoul which he constantly manifested had completely won our hearts over tohim. I desired to send him back to you at once, sir; I wished to get himaway from this sorrowful spot, I wished to take him to you myself, since apainful preoccupation detained you in Paris; but he had imposed uponhimself the duty of not forsaking so soon what was left of the unhappywoman. 

We had removed him to our house; we were surrounding him with attentions. He never left the chateau, except to go each day on a pious pilgrimagewithin a few steps. Still, his health was perceptibly failing. Day beforeyesterday morning, Madame de Malouet pressed him to join Monsieur deBreuilly and myself in a horseback ride. He consented, though somewhatreluctantly. We started. On the way, he strove manfully to respond to theefforts we were making to draw him into conversation and rouse him fromhis prostration. I saw him smile for the first time in many hours, and Ibegan to hope that time, the strength of his soul, the attentions offriendship, might restore some calm to his memory, when, at a turn in theroad, a deplorable chance brought us face to face with Monsieur deMauterne. 

This gentleman was on horseback; two friends and two ladies made up hisparty. We were following the same direction, but his gait was much morerapid than ours; he passed us, saluting as he did so, and I noticed, sofar as I am concerned, nothing in his manner that could attract attention. I was therefore much surprised to hear M. De Breuilly the next momentmurmur between his teeth: "That is an infamous trick!" Monsieur George, who, at the moment of meeting, had become pale and turned his headslightly away, looked sharply at Monsieur de Breuilly:

"What do you mean, sir? What do you refer to?"

"I refer to the impertinence of that brainless fool!"

I appealed energetically to Monsieur de Breuilly, reproaching him with hisquarrelsome disposition, and affirming that there had been no trace ofdefiance either in the attitude or the features of Monsieur de Mauternewhen he had passed by us. 

"Come, my friend, " said Monsieur de Breuilly, "your eyes must have beenclosed--or else you must have seen, as I saw myself, that the wretchgiggled as he looked at our friend. I don't know why you should wish thegentleman to suffer an insult which neither you nor I would suffer!"

These unlucky words had been scarcely uttered, when Monsieur Georgestarted his horse at a gallop. 

"Are you mad?" I said to De Breuilly, who was trying to detain me; "andwhat means such an invention?"

"My friend, " he replied, "it was necessary to divert that boy's mind atany cost. "

I shrugged my shoulders. I freed myself from him and dashed after MonsieurGeorge; but, being better mounted than myself, he had already gainedconsiderable advance. I was still a hundred paces behind him when heovertook Monsieur de Mauterne, who had stopped on hearing him coming. Itseemed to me that they were exchanging a few words, and almost at once Isaw Monsieur George's whip lashing several times, and with a sort of fury, Monsieur de Mauterne's face. We barely arrived in time, Monsieur deBreuilly and myself, to prevent that scene from assuming an odiouscharacter of brutality. 

A meeting having unfortunately become inevitable between the parties, wetook with us the two friends who accompanied Mauterne, Messieurs deQuiroy and Astley, the latter an Englishman. Monsieur George had precededus to the chateau. The choice of weapons belonged without any possibledoubt to our adversary. Nevertheless, having noticed that his secondsseemed to hesitate with a sort of indifference, or perhaps ofcircumspection between swords and pistols, I thought that we might, with alittle good management, influence their decisions in the direction leastunfavorable to us. We went, therefore, Monsieur de Breuilly and I, toconsult Monsieur George on the subject. He pronounced at once in favor ofswords. 

"But, " remarked Monsieur de Breuilly, "you are a very good pistol-shot. Ihave seen you at work. Are you certain to be a better swordsman? Do notdeceive yourself; this will be a mortal combat. "

"I am satisfied of that, " he replied, with a smile; "but I am particularlyanxious for swords, if at all possible. "

After the expression of so formal a wish, we could but esteem ourselvesfortunate in obtaining the choice of arms, and the meeting was settled forthe next morning at nine o'clock. 

During the remainder of the day, Monsieur George manifested an ease ofmind, and even at intervals a certain gayety, at which we were quitesurprised, and which Madame de Malouet, in particular, was at a loss tounderstand. My poor wife of course had been left in ignorance of theserecent events. 

At ten o'clock he retired, and I could still see a light through hiswindow two hours later. Impelled by my earnest affection and I know notwhat vague anxiety was haunting me, I entered his room at about midnight;I found him very calm; he had been writing and was just sealing up a fewenvelopes. 

"There!" he said, handing me the papers. "Now the worst is over, and I amgoing to sleep the sleep of the just. "

I thought it best to offer him a few more technical suggestions on thehandling of the weapon he was soon to use. He listened to me without muchattention, and suddenly extending his arm:

"Feel my pulse, " he said. 

I did so, and ascertained that his calm and his cheerfulness were neitheraffected nor feverish. 

"In such a condition, " he added, "if a man is killed it is because he iswilling to be. Good-night, my dear sir!" Whereupon I left him. 

Yesterday morning, at half-past eight, we repaired, Monsieur George, Monsieur de Breuilly, and myself, to an unfrequented path situated abouthalf way between Mauterne and Malouet, and which had been selected for thedueling-ground. Our adversary arrived almost immediately after, accompanied by Messieurs de Quiroy and Astley. The nature of the insultadmitted of no attempt at conciliation. We had therefore to proceed atonce to the fight. 

Scarcely had Monsieur George placed himself in position, when we becameconvinced of his complete inexperience in the use of the sword. Monsieurde Breuilly cast upon me a look of stupor. However, after the blades hadbeen crossed, there was a semblance of fight and of defense; but at thethird pass, Monsieur George fell pierced through the chest. 

I threw myself upon him; he was already in the grasp of death. Nevertheless he pressed my hand feebly, smiled once more, then gave vent, with his last breath, to his last thought, which was for you, sir:

"Tell Paul that I love him, that I forbid him seeking to avenge me, andthat I die--happy. " He expired. 

I shall not attempt, sir, to add anything to this narrative. It hasalready been too long and too painful to me; but I deemed this faithfuland minute account due to you. I had reason to believe, besides, that yourfriendship would like to follow to the last instant that existence whichwas so justly dear to you. Now you know all, you have understood all, evenwhat I have left unsaid. 

He lies in peace by her side. You will doubtless come, dear sir. We expectyou. We shall mingle our tears over those two beloved beings, both kindand charming, both crushed by passion and seized by death with relentlessrapidity in the midst of the pleasantest scenes of life. 

[THE END. ]

THE SPHINX;

OR, "JULIA DE TRECOEUR. "

CHAPTER I. 

"A BALEFUL AFFECTION. "

All those who, like ourselves, knew Raoul de Trecoeur during his earlyyouth, believed that he was destined to great fame. He had received quiteremarkable gifts from nature; there are left from him two or threesketches and a few hundred verses that promised a master; but he was veryrich, and had been very badly brought up; he soon gave himself up todilettanteism. A perfect stranger, like most men of his generation, to thesentiment of duty, he permitted himself to be recklessly carried away byhis instincts, which, fortunately for others, were more ardent thanhurtful. Therefore was he generally pitied when he died, in the flower ofhis age, for having loved and enjoyed immoderately everything that hethought pleasant. 

The poor fellow, they said, never did any harm but to himself; which, inpoint of fact, was not the exact truth. Trecoeur had married, at the ageof twenty-five, his cousin, Clotilde Andree de Pers, a modest and gracefulperson who had of the world nothing but its elegance. Madame de Trecoeurhad lived with her husband in an atmosphere of unhealthy storms, where shefelt out of place, and, as it were, degraded. He tormented her with hisremorse almost as much as he did with his faults. He looked upon her, andjustly, as an angel, and wept at her feet when he had betrayed her, lamenting that he was unworthy of her; that he was the victim of histemperament, and that he had been born in a faithless age. He threatenedonce to kill himself in his wife's boudoir if she did not forgive him; sheforgave him, of course. All this dramatic action disturbed Clotilde in herresigned existence. She would have preferred that her misery should havebeen more quiet and less declamatory. 

All the friends of her husband had been in love with her, and had builtgreat hopes upon her forlorn condition, but unfaithful husbands do notalways make guilty wives. The reverse is rather more frequently the case, so little is this poor world submitted to the rules of logic. In short, Madame de Trecoeur, after her husband's death was left forlorn, exhausted, and broken down, but spotless. 

From this melancholy union, a daughter had been born, named Julia, andwhom her father, notwithstanding all Clotilde's efforts of resistance, hadspoilt to excess. Monsieur de Trecoeur's idolatry for his daughter waswell-known, and the world, with its habitual weakness of judgment, forgavehim readily his scandalous existence in consideration of that merit, whichis not always a great one. It is not, indeed, a very difficult matter tolove one's children; it is sufficient for that not to be a monster. Thelove that one has for them is not in itself a virtue; it is a passionwhich, like all others, may be good or bad, as one is its master or itsslave. It may even be thought that there is no passion which may be morethan this one, pregnant with good or with evil. 

Julia seemed splendidly gifted; but her ardent and precocious dispositionhad been developed, thanks to the paternal education, as in the primevalforest, wholly at random. She was small in person, dark and pale, litheand slender, with large blue eyes full of fire, unruly black hair, andsuperbly arched eyebrows. Her habitual air was reserved and haughty;nevertheless she laid aside, at home, these majestic appearances to frolicon the carpet. She played games of her own invention. She translated herhistory lessons into little dramas interspersed with speeches to thepeople, dialogues, music, and particularly chariot-races. In spite of herserious countenance, she could be very funny at times, and made cruel funof those she did not like. 

She manifested for her father a passionate predilection, singularlymitigated by the sentiments of tender pity which her mother's unhappinessinspired in her youthful heart. She saw her weep often; she would thenthrow herself upon the floor, curled up at her feet, and there remain forhours, motionless and dumb, looking at her with moist eyes, and drinkingfrom time to time a tear from her cheek. 

She had apparently caught, as many children do, some echoes of thedomestic woes. Doubtless her quick intellect appreciated her father'swrong-doings; but her father--that handsome gentleman, so witty, generous, and wild--she worshiped him; she was proud to be his daughter; shepalpitated with joy when he clasped her to his heart. She could neitherjudge him nor blame him; he was a superior being. She contented herselfwith pitying and consoling, as best she could, that gentle and charmingcreature who was her mother, and who suffered. 

Within the circle of Madame de Trecoeur's acquaintances, Julia simplypassed for a little plague. The dear madames, as she called them, whoformed the ornament of her mother's Thursdays, related with bitterness toeach other the scenes of comical imitation with which the child followedtheir entrance and their departure. The men considered themselvesfortunate when they did not carry off a bit of paper or silk on the backof their coats. All this amused Monsieur de Trecoeur extremely. When hisdaughter performed with half a dozen chairs some of those Olympian racesthat knocked every piano in the neighborhood out of tune--

"Julia!" he would exclaim, "you don't make noise enough. Smash a vase. "

And a vase she did smash; whereupon her father kissed her with enthusiasm. 

This method of education assumed a graver character as the child grewolder. Her father's affection became shaded with a species of gallantry. He took her with him to the Bois, to the races, to the theater. She hadnot a fancy that he did not anticipate and gratify. At thirteen years ofage, she had her horse, her groom, and a carriage bearing her monogram. Already ill, and having perhaps a presentiment of his death, theunfortunate man overwhelmed that beloved daughter with the tokens of hisbaleful affection. He was thus blunting all her tastes by too precocioussatiety, as if he had intended to leave her no taste save for theforbidden fruit. 

Julia wept over him with furious transports, and preserved for his memorya fervid worship. She had a private room which she filled with theportraits of her father and with a thousand personal souvenirs, aroundwhich she kept up flowers. 

Madame de Trecoeur, like the greater number of young girls who marry theircousins, had married very young. She was left a widow at twenty-eight, andher mother, the Baroness de Pers, who was still living, and who was evenof the liveliest, was not long in suggesting discreetly to her thepropriety of a second marriage. After having exhausted the practical and, in fact, quite sensible reasons that seemed to urge that course, thebaroness then came down to the sentimental reasons:

"In good faith, my poor child, " she said, "you have not had, up too thistime, your just share of happiness in this world. I would not speak ill ofyour husband, since he is dead; but, _entre nous_, he was a horrid brute. Mon Dieu! charming at times, I grant you, --since I have been caughtmyself--like all worthless scamps! but in fact, beastly, beastly! Well, certainly, I shall not undertake to say that marriage is ever a state ofperfect bliss; nevertheless it is the best thing that has been imagined upto this time, to enjoy life decently among respectable people. You are inthe flower of your age--you are quite good-looking, quite--and, by theway, it will do you no harm to wear your skirts a little higher up behind, with a proper sort of bustle; for you don't even know what they wear now, my poor pet. Here, look! It's horrible, I know; but what can we do? wemust not attract attention. In short, what I meant to tell you is that youstill have all that is necessary, and even more than is necessary, to fixa husband--if indeed there are any that can be fixed, which I hope is thecase--otherwise, we should have to despair wholly of Providence, if it didnot have some compensation in store for us after all our trials. It isalready a manifest sign of its kindness that you should have recoveredyour _embonpoint_, my darling! Kiss your mother. Come, now, when is ourpretty little woman going to be married?"

There was no maternal exaggeration whatever in the compliments which thebaroness was addressing to Clotilde. All Paris looked upon her with thesame eyes as her mother. She had never been so attractive as now, and shehad always been infinitely so. Her person, reposed in the peace of hermourning, had then the bright lustre of a fine fruit, ripe and fresh. Herblack eyes full of timid tenderness, her pure brow crowned with splendidand life-like braids, her shoulders of rosy marble, her particular graceof a young matron, at once handsome, loving, and chaste--all that, joinedto a spotless reputation and to sixty thousand francs a year, could notfail to bring forward more than one pretender. And indeed they sprang upin legions. Reason, and public opinion itself, which had done full justiceto her husband and to herself, were both urging her to a second wedding. Her own private feelings, whatever might be their natural delicacy, didnot seem likely to prove an obstacle, for there was nothing in her heartthat was not true. She had been faithful to her husband, she had shedsincere and bitter tears over that wretched companion of her youth; but hehad exhausted and worn out her affection, and without ever joining hermother in her posthumous recriminations against Monsieur de Trecoeur, shefelt that she had no further duty to fulfill toward him but that ofprayer. 

She had, however, been for many months a widow, and she still continued tooppose to the solicitations of the baroness, a resistance of which thelatter sought in vain to ascertain the mysterious cause. One day shefancied she had discovered it. 

"Confess the truth, " she said to her; "you are afraid to cause someannoyance to Julia. Now, if that is so, my dear daughter, it is purefolly. You cannot have any serious scruple on that score. Julia will bevery rich in her own right, and will have no need of your fortune. Shewill herself marry in three or four years (much pleasure do I wish herhusband, by the way!); and see a little in what a nice situation you willfind yourself then! But, mon Dieu! are we never going to be done withthem? After the father, here is the daughter now! Eh! mon Dieu! let hererect chapels with her father's portraits and spurs as much as shelikes--that's her business; I am certainly not the one to enter intocompetition with her. But she must at least allow us to live in peace!What! You could not dispose of your person without her leave! Then if youare her slave, my dear child, show me the door at once! You could not doanything more agreeable to her for she cannot bear the sight of me, yourdaughter! And then, after all, in all candor, what possible objection canshe have to your getting married again? A step-father is not astep-mother; it's quite another thing. Eh! mon Dieu! her step-father willbe charming to her--all men will be charming to her; I predict her that;she may feel easy about it! Now, will you admit that it is the true causeof your hesitation?"

"I assure you that it is not, mother, " said Clotilde. 

"I assure you that it is, my daughter. Well, come; would you like me tospeak to Julia, to try and reason with her? I would prefer giving her agood whipping; however--!"

"Poor, dear mother, " rejoined Clotilde, "must I then tell you everything?"

She came to kneel down in front of the baroness. 

"By all means, daughter; tell me everything, but don't make me cry, I begof you! Is what you have to tell very sad?"

"Not very gay. "

"Mon Dieu! But no matter; go on. "

"In the first place, mother, I must confess that I would personally feelno scruple in marrying again--"

"I should think not! That would be carrying it just a little too far!"

"As to Julia--whom I adore, who loves me sincerely, and who loves you verymuch too, whatever you may say--"

"Satisfied of the contrary, " said the baroness. "But no matter; proceed. "

"As to Julia, I have more confidence than you have in her good sense andin her good heart; notwithstanding the exalted affection she has preservedfor her father, I am sure that she would understand, that she wouldrespect my determination, and that she would not love me one whit theless, especially if her step-father did not happen to be personallyobjectionable to her; for you are aware of the extreme violence of hersympathies and of her antipathies--"

"I am aware of it!" said the baroness, bitterly. "Well, you must give hera list of your gentlemen friends, the dear little thing, and she will pickout her own choice for you. "

"There is no need of that, good mother, " said Clotilde. "The choice hasalready been made by the mainly interested party, and I am certain that itwould not be disagreeable to Julia. "

"Well, then, my darling, everything is for the best. "

"Alas! no. I am going to tell you something that covers me with confusion. Among all the men we know, the only one who--the only one I like, in fact, is also the only one who has never been in love with me. "

"He must be a savage, then! he cannot but be a savage. But who is he?"

"I have told you, dear mother, the only one of our friends who is not inlove with me--"

"Bah! who is that? Your cousin Pierre?"

"No, but you are not--"

"Monsieur de Lucan!" exclaimed the baroness. "It could not fail to be so!The very flower of the flock! Mon Dieu, my darling, how very similar ourtastes are, both of us! He is charming, your Lucan, he is charming. Kissme, dear--don't look any farther, don't look any farther; he is positivelyjust the man for us. "

"But, mother, since he does not want me!"

"Good! he does not want you now! What nonsense! what do you know about it?Did you ask him? Besides, it is impossible, my darling; you were made foreach other in all eternity. He is charming, _distingue_, well-bred, rich, intelligent, everything, in a word--everything. "

"Everything, mother, except in love with me. "

The baroness exclaiming anew against such a very unlikely thing, Clotildeexposed to her eyes a series of facts and particulars which left no roomfor illusions. The dismayed mother was compelled to resign herself to thepainful conviction that there really was in the world a man ofsufficiently bad taste not to be in love with her daughter, and that thisman unfortunately was Monsieur de Lucan. 

She returned slowly to her residence, meditating on the way upon thatstrange mystery the explanation of which, however, she was not long towait. 

CHAPTER II. 

TWO FAST FRIENDS. 

George-Rene de Lucan was an intimate friend of the Count Pierre deMoras, Clotilde's cousin. They had been companions in boyhood, in youth, in travels, and even in battle; for, chance having led them to the UnitedStates at the outbreak of the war of the rebellion, they had deemed it afavorable opportunity to receive the baptism of fire. Their friendship hadbecome still more sternly tempered in the midst of these dangers ofwarfare sustained fraternally far from their own country. That friendshiphad had, moreover, for a long time, a character of rare confidence, delicacy, and strength. They entertained the highest esteem for eachother, and their mutual confidence was not misplaced. They, however, boreno resemblance whatever to each other. Pierre de Moras was of tallstature, blonde as a Scandinavian, handsome and strong as a lion, but as agood-natured lion. Lucan was dark, slender, elegant and grave. There wasin his cold and gentle accent, in his very bearing, a certain gracemingled with authority, that was both imposing and charming. 

They were not less dissimilar in a moral point of view; the former a jollycompanion, an absolute and settled skeptic, the careless possessor of adanseuse; the latter always agitated despite his outer calm, romantic, passionate, tormented with love and theology. Pierre de Moras, on theirreturn from America, had presented Lucan to his cousin Clotilde, and fromthat moment there were at least two points upon which they agreedperfectly; profound esteem for Clotilde, and deep-seated antipathy for herhusband. 

They appreciated, however, each in his own way, Monsieur de Trecoeur'scharacter and conduct. For the Count Pierre, Trecoeur was simply amischievous being; in Monsieur de Lucan's eyes, he was a criminal. 

"Why criminal?" Pierre said. "Is it his fault if he was born with theeternal flames on the marrow of his bones? I admit that I feel quitedisposed to break his head when I see Clotilde's eyes red; but I wouldnot feel any more angry about it, than if I were crushing a serpent undermy heel. Since it is his nature, the poor man can't help it. "

"That little system of yours would simply suppress all merit, all will, all liberty; in a word, the whole moral world. If we are not the mastersof our own passions, at least to a great extent, and if, on the contrary, it is our passions that fatally control us; if a man is necessarily goodor bad, honest or a knave, loyal or a traitor, at the mercy of hisinstincts, tell me, if you please, why you honor me with your esteem andyour friendship? I have no right to them any more than any one else, anymore than Trecoeur himself. "

"I beg your pardon, my friend, " said Pierre gravely; "in the vegetableworld I prefer a rose to a thistle; in the moral world, I prefer you toTrecoeur. You were born a gallant fellow; I rejoice at it, and I make thebest of it. "

"Well, _mon cher_, you are laboring under a complete mistake, " rejoinedLucan. "I was born, on the contrary, with the most detestable instincts, with the germ of all vices. "

"Like Socrates?"

"Like Socrates, exactly. And if my father had not chastised me in time, ifmy mother had not been a saint, finally, if I had not myself placed, withthe utmost energy, my will at the service of my conscience, I would beto-day, a faithless and lawless scoundrel. "

"But nothing proves that you will not turn out a scoundrel one of thesedays, my dear friend. There is no one but may become a scoundrel at theproper time. Everything depends upon the extent and strength of thetemptation. Whatever may be your instinct of honor and dignity, are youyourself quite sure never to meet with a temptation sufficiently powerfulto overcome your principles? Can you not conceive, for instance, somecircumstance in which you might love a woman enough to commit a crime?"

"No, " said Lucan; "do you?"

"I!--I deserve no credit. I have no passions. It is extremely mortifying, but I have none. I was born to be an exemplary man. You remember mychildhood; I was a little model. Now I am a big model, that's all thedifference--and it does not cost me any effort whatever. Shall we go andsee Clotilde?"

"Let us go!"

And they went to Clotilde's, very worthy herself of the friendship ofthese two excellent fellows. 

There they were received with marked consideration, even by MademoiselleJulia, who seemed to feel, to a certain degree, the prestige of thesesuperior natures. Both had, moreover, in their manners and language anelegant correctness that apparently satisfied the child's delicate tasteand her artistic instincts. 

During the early period of her mourning, Julia's disposition had assumed asomewhat shy and somber cast; when her mother received visitors, she leftthe parlor abruptly, and went to lock herself up in her own room, not, however, without manifesting toward the indiscreet guests a haughtydispleasure. Cousin Pierre and his friend had alone the privilege of akindly greeting; she even deigned to leave her apartment and come and jointhem at her mother's side when she knew that they were there. 

Clotilde had therefore good reasons to believe that her preference forMonsieur de Lucan would obtain her daughter's approbation; sheunfortunately had better ones still to doubt that Monsieur de Lucan'sdisposition corresponded with her own. Not only, indeed, had he alwaysmaintained toward her the terms of the most reserved friendship, but, since she had been a widow, that reserve had become perceptiblyaggravated. Lucan's visits became fewer and briefer; he even seemed totake particular care in avoiding all occasions of finding himself alonewith Clotilde, as if he had penetrated her secret feelings, and hadaffected to discourage them. Such were the sadly significant symptomswhich Clotilde had communicated in confidence to her mother. 

On the very day when the baroness was receiving this unpleasantinformation at the residence of her daughter, a conversation was takingplace upon the same subject between the Count de Moras and George deLucan, in the latter's apartment. They had taken together, during theforenoon a ride through the Bois, and Lucan had shown himself even moresilent than usual. At the moment of parting:

"_Apropos_, Pierre, " he said, "I am tired of Paris; I am going to travel. "

"Going to travel! Where on earth?"

"I am going to Sweden. I have always wished to see Sweden. "

"What a singular thing! Will you be gone long?"

"Two or three months. "

"When do you expect to leave?"

"To-morrow. "

"Alone?"

"Entirely so. I'll see you again at the club, to-night, won't I?"

The strange reserve of this dialogue left upon the mind of Monsieur deMoras an impression of surprise and uneasiness. He was unable to withstandthe feeling, and two hours later he returned to Lucan's. As he went in, preparations for traveling greeted his eyes on all sides. Lucan wasengaged writing in his study. 

"Now, my dear fellow!" said the count to him, "if I am impertinent, say sofrankly and at once; but this sudden and hurried voyage doesn't look likeanything. Seriously, what is the matter? Are you going to fight a dueloutside the frontier?":

"Bah! In that case I should take you with me; you know that very well. "

"A woman, then?"

"Yes, " said Lucan dryly. 

"Excuse my importunity, and good-by. "

"I have wounded your feelings, dear friend?" said Lucan, detaining him. 

"Yes, " said the count, "I certainly do not pretend to enter into yoursecrets; but I do not absolutely understand the tone of restraint, andalmost of hostility, in which you are answering me on the subject of thisjourney. It is not, moreover, the first symptoms of that nature thatstrike and grieve me; for some time past, I find you visibly embarrassedin your intercourse with me; it seems as though I were in your way and myfriendship were a burden to you, and the cruel idea has occurred to mymind that this journey is merely a way of putting an end to it. "

"Mon Dieu!" murmured Lucan. "Well, then, " he went on with evidentagitation in his voice, "I must tell you the whole truth; I hoped that youwould have guessed it--it is so simple. Your cousin, Clotilde, has nowbeen a widow for nearly two years; that, I believe, is the termconsecrated by custom to the mourning of a husband. I am aware of yourfeelings toward her; you may now marry her, and you will be perfectlyright in doing so. Nothing seems to me more just, more natural, moreworthy of her and of yourself. I beg to assure you that my friendship foryou shall remain faithful and entire, but I trust you will not object tomy keeping away for a short time. That's all. "

Monsieur de Moras seemed to have infinite difficulty in comprehending themeaning of this speech; he remained for several seconds after Lucan hadceased to speak, with wondering countenance and fixed gaze, as if tryingto find the solution of a riddle; then rising abruptly and grasping bothLucan's hands:

"Ah! that's kind of you, that is!" he said with grave emotion. 

And after another cordial grasp, he added gayly:

"But if you expect to stay in Sweden until I have married Clotilde, youmay begin building and even planting there, for I swear to you that youshall stay long enough for either purpose. "

"Is it possible that you do not love her?" said Lucan in a half whisper. 

"I love her very much, on the contrary; I appreciate her, I admire her;but she is a sister to me, purely a sister. The most delightful thingabout it, _mon cher_, is that it has always been my dream to have you andClotilde marry; only you seemed to be so cold, so little attentive, sorebellious, particularly lately. Mon Dieu! how pale you are, George!"

The final result of this conversation was that Monsieur de Lucan, insteadof starting for Sweden, called a little later to see the Baroness de Pers, to whom he exposed his aspirations, and who thought herself, as shelistened to him, in the midst of an enchanting dream. She had, however, beneath her frivolous manners too profound a sentiment of her own dignityand that of her daughter, to manifest in the presence of Monsieur de Lucanthe joy that overwhelmed her. Whatever desire she might have felt ofclasping immediately upon her heart this ideal son-in-law, she deferredthat satisfaction and contented herself with expressing to him herpersonal sympathy. Appreciating, however, Monsieur de Lucan's justimpatience, she advised him to call that very evening upon Madame deTrecoeur, of whose personal sentiments she was herself ignorant, but whocould not fail to meet his advances with the esteem and the considerationdue to a man of his merit and standing. Being left alone, the baronessgave way to her feelings in a soliloquy mingled with tears; she, however, purposely omitted to notify Clotilde, preferring with her maternal tasteto leave her the whole enjoyment of that surprise. 

The heart of woman is an organ infinitely more delicate than ours. Theconstant exercise which they give it develops within it finer and subtlerfaculties than the dry masculine intellect can ever hope to possess; thataccounts for their presentiments, less rare and more certain than ours. Itseems as though their sensibility, always strained and vibrating, might bewarned by mysterious currents of divine instinct, and that it guesses evenbefore it can understand. Clotilde, when Monsieur de Lucan was announced, was, as it were, struck by one of these secret electric thrills, and inspite of all the objections to the contrary that beset her mind, she feltthat she was loved, and that she was on the point of being told so. Shesat down in her great arm-chair, drawing up with both hands the silk ofher dress, with the gesture of a bird that flaps its wings. Lucan'svisible agitation further enlightened and delighted her. In such men, armed with powerful but sternly restrained passions, accustomed to controltheir own feelings, intrepid and calm, agitation is either frightful orcharming. 

After informing her--which was entirely useless--that his visit to her wasone of unusual importance:

"Madam, " he added, "the request I am about to address you demands, I know, a well-matured answer. I will therefore beg of you not to give that answerto-day, the more so that it would indeed be painful to me to hear it fromyour own lips if it where not a favorable one. "

"Mon Dieu! monsieur!" said Clotilde faintly. 

"The baroness, your mother, madam, whom I had the pleasure of seeingduring the day, was kind enough to hold out some encouragement to me--in ameasure--and to permit me to hope that you might entertain some esteem forme, or at least that you had no prejudice against me. As to myself madam, I--mon Dieu! I love you, in a word, and I cannot imagine a greaterhappiness in the world than that which I would hold at your hands. Youhave known me for a long time; I have nothing to tell you concerningmyself. And now, I shall wait. "

She detained him with a sign of her hand, and tried to speak; but her eyesfilled with tears. She hid her face in her hands, and she murmured:

"Excuse me! I have been so rarely happy! I don't know what it is!"

Lucan got gently down upon his knees before her, and when their eyes met, their two hearts suddenly filled like two cups. 

"Speak, my friend!" she resumed. "Tell me again that you love me. I was sofar from thinking it! And why is it? And since when?"

He explained to her his mistake, his painful struggle between his love forher and his friendship for Pierre. 

"Poor Pierre!" said Clotilde, "what an excellent fellow. But no, really!"

Then he made her smile by telling her what mortal terror and apprehensionhad taken possession of his soul at the moment when he was asking her todecide upon his fate; she had seemed too him, more than ever, at thatmoment, a lovely and sainted creature, and so much above him, that hispretension of being loved by her, of becoming her husband, had suddenlyappeared to him as a pretension almost sacrilegious. 

"Oh, mon Dieu!" she said, "what an opinion have you formed of me, then?It's frightful! On the contrary, I thought myself too simple, toocommonplace for you; I thought that you must be fond of romantic passions, of great adventures; you have somewhat the appearance of it, and even thereputation; and I am so far from being a woman of that kind!"

Upon that slight invitation, he told her two events of his past life whichhad been full of trite excitement, and had afforded him nothing butdisappointment and disgust. Never, however, before having met her, had thethought of marrying occurred to him; in the matter of love as in thematter of friendship, he had always had the imagination taken up with acertain ideal, somewhat romantic indeed, and he had feared never to findit in marriage. He might have looked for it elsewhere, in greatadventures, as she said; but he loved order and dignity in life, and hehad the misfortune of being unable to live at war with his own conscience. Such had been his agitated youth. 

"You ask me, " he went on with effusion, "why I love you. I love youbecause you alone have succeeded in harmonizing within my heart twosentiments which had hitherto struggled for its mastery at the cost offearful anguish; honor and passion. Never before knowing you had I yieldedto one of these sentiments without being made wretched by the other. Theyalways seemed, irreconcilable to me. Never had I yielded to passionwithout remorse; never had I resisted it without regret. Whether weak orstrong, I have always been unhappy and tortured. You alone made meunderstand that I could love at once with all the ardor and all thedignity of my soul; and I selected you because you are affectionate andyou are sincere; because you are handsome and you are pure; because thereare embodied in you both duty and rapture, love and respect, intoxicationand peace. Such is the woman, such is the angel you are to me, Clotilde. "

She listened to him half reclining, drinking in his words and manifestingin her eyes a sort of celestial surprise. 

But it seems--who has not experienced it?--that human happiness cannottouch certain heights without drawing the lightning upon itself. Clotildein the midst of her ecstasy shuddered suddenly and started to her feet. She had just heard a smothered cry, followed by the dull sound of afalling body. She ran, opened the door, and in the center of the adjoiningroom saw Julia stretched upon the floor. 

She supposed that the child at the moment of entering the parlor hadoverheard some of their words, and then the thought of seeing her father'splace occupied by another, striking her thus without warning, had stirredto its very depths that passionate young soul. Clotilde followed her intoher room, where she had her carried, and expressed the wish of remainingalone with her. While lavishing upon her cares, caresses, and kisses, itwas not without fearful anguish that she awaited her daughter's firstglance. That glance fell upon her at first with vague uncertainty, thenwith a sort of wild stupor. The child pushed her away, gently; she wastrying to collect her ideas, and as the expression of her thought grewfirmer in her eyes, her mother could plainly read in them a violent strifeof opposing feelings. 

"I beg of you, I beseech you, my darling daughter, " murmured Clotilde, whose tears fell drop by drop upon the pale visage of the child. 

Suddenly Julia seized her by the neck, drew her down upon herself, andkissing her passionately:

"You have hurt me much, " she said, "oh! very much more than you canimagine; but I love you. I love you a great deal; I shall, I must always, I assure you. "

She burst into sobs, and both wept long, closely clasped to each other. 

In the meantime Monsieur de Lucan had deemed it advisable to send for theBaroness de Pers, whom he was entertaining in the parlor. The baroness onhearing what was going on had manifested more agitation than surprise. 

"Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed, "I expected it fully, my dear sir. I did nottell you anything about it, because we hadn't got so far yet; but Iexpected it fully. That child will kill my daughter. She will finish whather father has so well begun; for it is purely a miracle if my daughter, after all she has suffered, has been able to recover as far as you see. Imust leave them together. I am not going in there. Oh, mon Dieu! I am notgoing in there! In the first place, I would be afraid of annoying mydaughter, and besides, that would be entirely out of my character. "

"How old is Mademoiselle Julia?" inquired Lucan, who retained under thesepainful circumstances his quiet courtesy. 

"Why, she is almost fifteen, and I'm not sorry for it, by the way, for, _entre nous_, we may reasonably hope to get honestly rid of her within ayear or two. Oh! she will have no trouble in getting married, no troublewhatever, you may be sure. In the first place she is rich, and then, afterall, she is a pretty monster, there is no gainsaying that, and there is nolack of men who admire that style. "

Clotilde joined them at last. Whatever might have been her inward emotion, she appeared calm, having nothing theatrical in her ways. She repliedsimply, in a low and gentle voice, to her mother's feverish questions; sheremained convinced that this misfortune would not have happened, if shecould have herself informed Julia, with some precautions, of the eventwhich chance had abruptly revealed to her. Addressing then a sad smile toMonsieur de Lucan:

"These family difficulties, sir, " she said to him, "could not have formeda part of your anticipations, and I should deem it quite natural were theyto lead to some modification of your plans. ":

An expressive anxiety became depicted upon Lucan's features. "If you askme to restore to you your freedom, " he said, "I cannot but comply; if itis your delicacy alone that has spoken, I beg to assure you that you arestill dearer to me since I have seen you suffer on my account, and sufferwith so much dignity. "

She held out her hand, which he seized, bowing low at the same time. 

"I shall love your daughter so much, " he said, "that she will forgive me. "

"Yes, I hope so, " said Clotilde; "nevertheless, she wishes to enter aconvent for a few months, and I have consented. "

Her voice trembled and her eyes became moist. 

"Excuse me, sir, " she added; "I have no right as yet to make youparticipate to such an extent in my sorrows. May I beg of you to leave mealone with my mother?"

Lucan murmured a few words of respect, and withdrew. It was quite true, ashe had said, that Clotilde was dearer to him than ever. Nothing hadinspired him with such a lofty idea of the moral worth of that woman asher attitude during that trying evening. Stricken in the midst of herflight of happiness, she had fallen without a cry, without a groan, striving to hide her wound; she had manifested in his presence thatexquisite modesty in suffering so rare among her sex. He was the moregrateful to her for it, that he was deeply averse to those pathetic andturbulent demonstrations which most women never fail to eagerly exhibit onevery occasion, when they are indeed kind enough not to bring them about. 

CHAPTER III. 

JULIA'S CHAMPION. 

Monsieur de Lucan had been Clotilde's husband for several months when therumor spread among society that Mademoiselle de Trecoeur, formerly knownas such an incarnate little devil, was about taking the vail in theconvent of the Faubourg Saint Germain, to which she had withdrawn beforeher mother's marriage. That rumor was well founded. Julia had endured atfirst with some difficulty the discipline and the observances to which thesimple boarders of the establishment were themselves bound to submit; thenshe had been gradually taken with a pious fervor, the excesses of whichthey had been compelled to moderate. She had begged her mother not to putan obstacle to the irresistible inclination which she felt for a religiouslife, and Clotilde had with difficulty obtained permission that she shouldadjourn her resolution until the accomplishment of her sixteenth year. 

Madame de Lucan's relations with her daughter since her marriage had beenof a singular character. She came almost daily to visit her, and alwaysreceived the liveliest manifestations of affection at her hands; but ontwo points, and those the most sensitive, the young girl had remainedinflexible; she had never consented either to return to the maternal roof, nor to see her mother's husband. 

She had even remained for a long time without making the slightestallusion to Clotilde's altered situation, which she affected to ignore. One day, at last, feeling the intolerable torture of such a reserve, shemade up her mind, and fixing her flashing eyes upon her mother:

"Well, are you happy at last?" she said. 

"How can I be, " said Clotilde, "since you hate the man I love?"

"I hate no one, " replied Julia, dryly. "How is your husband?"

From that moment she inquired regularly after Monsieur de Lucan in a toneof polite indifference; but she never uttered without hesitation andevident discomfort the name of the man who had taken her father's place. 

In the meantime she had reached her sixteenth year. Her mother's promisehad been formal. Julia was henceforth free to follow her vocation, and shewas preparing for it with an impatient ardor that edified the good ladiesof the convent. Madame de Lucan expressing, one morning, in the presenceof her mother and her husband the anxiety that oppressed her heart duringthese last days of respite:

"As to me, my daughter, " said the baroness, "I must confess that I amurging with all my wishes and prayers the moment which you seem to dread. The life you have been leading since your marriage has nothing human aboutit; but what forms its principal torment, is the constant struggle whichyou have to sustain against that child's obstinacy. Well, when she hasbecome a nun, there will no longer be any struggle; the situation will beclearer; and note that you will not be in reality any more separated thanyou are now, since the house is not a cloister; I would just as lief itwere, myself; but it is not. And then, why oppose a vocation which Ireally look upon as providential? In the interest of the child herself, you should congratulate yourself upon the resolution she has taken; Iappeal to your husband to say if that is not so. Come, let me ask you, mydear sir, what could be expected of such an organization, if she were oncelet loose upon the world? Why! she would be a dangerous character forsociety! You know what a head she has! a volcano! And pray observe, myfriend, that at this present moment she is a perfect odalisk. You have notseen her for some time; you cannot imagine how she has developed. I, whoenjoy the treat of seeing her twice a week, can positively assure you thatshe is a perfect odalisk, and besides, divinely dressed. In fact, she isso well made! you might throw a window-curtain over her with a pitch-fork, and she would look as if she were just coming out of Worth's! There, askPierre what he thinks about it, he who has the honor of being admitted toher good graces!"

Monsieur de Moras, who was coming in at that very moment, shared, indeed, with a very limited number of friends of the family, the privilege ofaccompanying Clotilde occasionally on her visits to Julia's convent. 

"Well, my good Pierre, " resumed the baroness, "we were speaking of Julia, and I was telling my son-in-law that it was really quite fortunate thatshe was willing to become a saint, because otherwise she would certainlyset Paris on fire!"

"Because?" asked the count. 

"Because she is beautiful as Sin!"

"Undoubtedly she is quite good-looking, " said the count somewhat coldly. 

The baroness having gone out on some errands with Clotilde, Monsieur deMoras remained alone with Lucan. 

"It really seems to me, " he said to the latter, "that our poor Julia isbeing very harshly treated. "

"In what way?"

"Her grandmother speaks of her as of a perverse creature! And what faultdo they find with her after all? Her worship of her father's memory! It isexcessive, I grant; but filial piety, even when exaggerated, is not avice, that I know of. Her sentiments are exalted; what does it matter ifthey are generous? Is that a reason why she should be devoted to theinfernal divinities and thrust out of the way to be forgotten?"

"But you are very strange, my friend, I assure you, " said Lucan. "What isthe matter with you? whom do you mean to blame? You are certainly awarethat Julia proposes taking the vail wholly of her own accord; that hermother is distressed about it, and that she has spared no effort todissuade her from that step. As to myself, I have no reason whatever to befond of her; she has caused and is still causing me much grief; but youknow well enough that I have ever been ready to greet her as my daughter, if she had deigned to return to us. "

"Oh! I accuse neither her mother nor yourself, of course; it is thebaroness who irritates me; she is unnatural! Julia is her grandchild afterall, and she rejoices--she positively rejoices--at the prospect of seeingher a nun!"

"_Ma foi_, I declare to you that I am not far from rejoicing too. Thesituation is too painful for Clotilde; it must be brought to an end; andas I see no other possible solution--"

"But I beg your pardon; there might be another. "

"And which?"

"She might marry. "

"How likely! and marry--whom, pray?"

The count approached nearer to Lucan, looked him straight in the face, andsmiling with some embarrassment:

"Me!" he said. 

"Repeat that!" said Lucan. 

"_Mon cher_, " rejoined the count, "you see that I am as red as a peony;spare me. I have wished for a long time to broach that delicate questionto you, but my courage has failed me; since I have found it, at last, don't deprive me of it. "

"My dear friend, " said Lucan, "allow me to recover a little first, for Iam falling from the clouds. What! you are in love with Julia?"

"To an extraordinary degree, my friend. "

"No! there is something under that; you have discovered this means ofdrawing us together, and you wish to sacrifice yourself for the peace ofthe family. "

"I swear to you that I am not thinking in the least of the peace of thefamily; I am thinking wholly of my own, which is very much disturbed, forI love that child with an energy of feeling that I never knew before. If Idon't marry her, I shall never console myself for the rest of my life. "

"To that extent?" said Lucan, dumfounded. 

"It is a terrible thing, _mon cher_, " rejoined Monsieur de Moras. "I amabsolutely in love; when she looks at me, when I touch her hand, when herdress rustles against me, I feel, as it were, a philter running through myveins. I had heard of emotions of that kind, but I had never felt them. Imust confess that they delight me; but at the same time they distress me, for I cannot conceal the fact to myself that there are a thousand chancesagainst one that my passion will not be reciprocated, and it really seemsas though my heart should wear mourning for it as long as it shall beat. "

"What an adventure!" said Lucan, who had recovered all his gravity. "Thatis a very serious matter; very annoying. "

He walked a few steps about the parlor, absorbed in thoughts that seemedof a rather somber character. 

"Is Julia aware of your sentiments?" he said, suddenly. 

"Most certainly not; I would not have taken the liberty of informing herof them without first speaking to you. Will you be kind enough to act asmy ambassador to her mother?"

"Why, yes, with pleasure, " said Lucan, with a shade of hesitation that didnot escape his friend. 

"You think that is useless, don't you?" said the count with a forcedsmile. 

"Useless--why so?"

"In the first place, it is very late. "

"It is somewhat late, no doubt. Things have gone very far; but I havenever had much confidence in the stability of Julia's ideas of hervocation. Besides, in these restless imaginations, the sincerestresolutions of to-day become readily the dislikes of the morrow. "

"But you doubt that--that I should succeed in pleasing her?"

"Why should you not please her? You are more than good-looking. You arethirty-two years old; she is sixteen. You are a little richer than she is. All that does very well. "

"Well, then, why do you hesitate to serve me?"

"I do not hesitate to serve you; only I see you very much in love; you arenot accustomed to it, and I fear that a condition of things so novel foryou might be urging you somewhat hastily to such a grave determination asmarriage. A wife is not a mistress. In short, before taking an irrevocablestep I would beg of you to think well and further over it. "

"My good friend, " said the count, "I do not wish, and I believe quitesincerely that I cannot, do so. You know my ideas. Genuine passions alwayshave the best of it, and I am not quite sure that honor itself is a veryeffective argument against them. As to setting up reason against them, itis worse than folly. Besides, come, Lucan, what is there so unreasonablein the simple fact of marrying a person I love? I don't see that it isabsolutely necessary for a man not to love his wife--Well! can I rely uponyou?"

"Completely so, " said Lucan, taking his hand. "I raised my objections; nowI am wholly at your service. I shall speak to Clotilde in a moment. She isgoing to see her daughter this afternoon. Come and dine with us to-night;but summon up all your courage, for, after all, success is veryuncertain. "

Monsieur de Lucan found it no difficult task to gain the cause of Monsieurde Moras with Clotilde. After hearing him, not, however, withoutinterrupting him more than once with exclamations of surprise:

"Mon Dieu!" she replied, "that would be an ideal! Not only would thatmarriage put an end to projects that break my heart, but it offers all theconditions of happiness that I can possibly think of for my daughter; andfurthermore, the friendship that binds you to Pierre would naturally, someday, bring about a _rapprochement_ between his wife and yourself. All thatwould be too fortunate; but how could we hope for such a complete andsudden revolution in Julia's ideas? She will not even allow me to delivermy message to the end. "

She left, palpitating with anxiety. She found Julia alone in her room, trying on before a mirror her novice's dress; the vail that was to concealher luxuriant hair was laid upon the bed; she was simply dressed in along, white woolen tunic, whose folds she was engaged in adjusting. 

She blushed when she saw her mother come in; then with an insipient laugh:

"Cymodocea in the circus, isn't it, mother?"

Clotilde made no answer; she had joined her hands in a supplicatingattitude, and wept as she looked at her. Julia was moved by that mutesorrow; two tears rolled from her eyes, and she threw her arms around hermother's neck; then, taking a seat by her side:

"What can I do?" she said; "I, too, feel some regret at heart, for, afterall, I was fond of life; but aside from my vocation, which I believe quitereal, I am yielding to a positive necessity. There is no other existencepossible for me but that one. I know very well--it's my own fault; I havebeen somewhat foolish--I should not have left you in the first place, orat least, I should have returned to your house immediately after yourmarriage. Now, after months, and even years, is it possible, I ask you? Inthe first place, I would die with shame. Can you imagine me in thepresence of your husband? What sort of countenance could I put on? Andthen, he must fairly detest me, the bent must be firmly taken in his mind. Finally, I should be in all respects terribly in your way!"

"But, my dear child, no one hates you; you would be received withtransports of joy, like the prodigal child. If you deem it too painful toreturn to my home--if you fear to find or to bring trouble there withyou--God knows how mistaken you are on this point! but still, if you dofear it, is that a reason why you should bury yourself alive and break myheart? Could you not return into the world without returning to my ownhouse, and without having to face all those difficulties that frightenyou? There would be a very simple way of doing that, you know!"

"What is it?" said Julia quietly; "to marry?"

"Undoubtedly, " said Clotilde, shaking her head gently and lowering hervoice. 

"But, mon Dieu! mother, what possible chance is there of such a thing?Suppose I were willing--and I am far from it--I know no one, no one knowsme. "

"There is some one, " rejoined Clotilde, with increasing timidity; "someone whom you know perfectly well, and who--who adores you. "

Julia opened her eyes wide with a pensive and surprised expression, andafter a brief pause of reflection:

"Pierre?" she said. 

"Yes, " murmured Clotilde, pale with anxiety. 

Julia's eyebrows became slightly contracted; she raised her head andremained for a few seconds with her eyes fixed upon the ceiling; then, with a slight shrug of her shoulders:

"Why not?" she said gravely. "I would as soon have him as any one else!"

Clotilde uttered a feeble cry, and grasping both her daughter's hands:

"You consent?" she said; "you really consent? And may I take your answerto him?"

"Yes, but you had better change the text of it, " said Julia, laughing. 

"Oh! my darling, darling dear!" exclaimed Clotilde, covering Julia's handswith kisses; "but repeat again that it is all true--that by to-morrow youwill not have changed your mind. "

"I will not change my mind, " said Julia, firmly, in her grave and musicalvoice. 

She meditated for a moment and then resumed:

"Really, he loves me, that big fellow!"

"Like a madman. "

"Poor man! And he is waiting for an answer?"

"With the utmost anxiety. "

"Well, go and quiet his fears. We will take up the subject againto-morrow. I require to put a little order in my thoughts after all thisconfusion and excitement, you understand; but you may rest easy. I havedecided. "

When Madame de Lucan returned home, Pierre de Moras was waiting for her inthe parlor. He turned very pale when he saw her. 

"Pierre!" she said, all panting still, "come and kiss me, you are my son!Respectfully, if you please, respectfully!" she added laughingly as helifted her up and clasped her to his heart. 

A little later, he had the gratification of treating in the same mannerthe Baroness de Pers, who had been sent for in haste. 

"My dear friend, " said the baroness, "I am delighted, really delighted, but you are choking me--yes, yes, it is all for the best, my dearfellow--but you are literally choking me, I tell you! Reserve yourself, myfriend, reserve yourself!--The dear child! that's quite nice of her, quitenice! In point of fact, she has a heart of gold! And then she has goodtaste, too, for you are very handsome yourself, very handsome, _mon cher_, very handsome! To be perfectly candid, I always had an idea that, at themoment of cutting off her hair, she would think the matter over. And shehas such beautiful hair, the poor child!"

And the baroness melted into tears; then addressing the count in the midstof her sobs:

"You'll not be very unhappy either, by the way; she is a goddess!"

Monsieur de Lucan, though deeply moved by this family tableau, and aboveall, by Clotilde's joy, took more coolly that unexpected event. Besidesthat he did not generally show himself very demonstrative in public, hewas sad and anxious at heart. The future prospects of this marriage seemedextremely uncertain to him, and in his profound friendship for the counthe felt alarmed. He had not ventured, through a sentiment of delicatereserve toward Julia, upon telling him all he thought of her character anddisposition. He strove to banish from his mind as partial and unjust theopinion he had formed of her; but still he could not help remembering theterrible child he had known once, at times wild as a hurricane, at otherspensive and wrapped in gloomy reserve; he tried to imagine her such as shehad been described to him since; tall, handsome, ascetic; then he fanciedher suddenly casting her vail to the winds, like one of the fantastic nunsin "Robert le Diable, " and returning swift-footed into the world; of allthese various impressions he composed, in spite of himself, a figure ofChimera and Sphinx, which he found very difficult to connect with the ideaof domestic happiness. 

They discussed in the family circle, during the whole evening, thecomplications which might arise from that marriage project, and the meansof avoiding them. Monsieur de Lucan entered into all these details withthe utmost good grace, and declared that he would lend himself heartily, for his own part, to all the arrangements which his daughter-in-law mightwish. That precaution was not destined to be useless. 

Early the next morning, Clotilde returned to the convent. Julia, afterlistening with slightly ironical nonchalance to the account which hermother gave her of the transports and the joy of her intended, assumed amore serious air. 

"And your husband, " she said, "what does he think of it?"

"He is delighted, as we all are. "

"I am going to ask you a single question: does he expect to be present atour wedding?"

"That will be just as you like. "

"Listen, good little mother, and don't grieve in advance. I know very wellthat sooner or later, this marriage must be the means of bringing us alltogether; but let me have a little time to become accustomed to the idea. Grant me a few months so that the old Julia may be forgotten, and I mayforget her myself--you will; say, won't you?"

"Anything you please, " said Clotilde, with a sigh. 

"I beg of you. Tell him that I beg of him, too. "

"I'll tell him; but do you know that Pierre is here?"

"Ah! _mon Dieu!_ and where did you leave him?"

"I left him in the garden. "

"In the garden! how imprudent, mother! why, the ladies are going to tearhim to pieces--like Orpheus, for you may well believe that he is not inthe odor of sanctity here. "

Monsieur de Moras was sent for at once, and he came up in all haste. Juliabegan laughing as he appeared at the door, which facilitated his entree. She had several times, during their interview, fits of that nervouslaughter which is so useful to women in trying circumstances. Deprived ofthat resource, Monsieur de Moras contented himself with kissing thebeautiful hands of his cousin, and was otherwise generally wanting ineloquence; but his handsome and manly features were resplendent, and hislarge blue eyes were moist with gratified affection. He appeared to leavea favorable impression. 

"I had never considered him in that light, " said Julia to her mother; "heis very handsome--he will make a splendid-looking husband. "

The marriage took place three months later, privately and without anydisplay. The Count de Moras and his youthful bride left for Italy the sameevening. 

Monsieur de Lucan had left Paris two or three weeks before, and had takenup his quarters in an old family residence at the very extremity ofNormandy, where Clotilde hastened to join him immediately after Julia'sdeparture. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A GREWSOME ABODE. 

Vastville, the patrimonial domain of the Lucan family, is situated a shortdistance from the sea, on the west coast of the Norman Finisterre. It is amanor with high roof and wrought-iron balconies, which dates from the timeof Louis XIII. , and which has taken the place of the old castle, a fewruins of which still serve to ornament the park. It is concealed in athickly shaded depression of the soil, and a long avenue of antique elmsprecedes it. The aspect of it is singularly retired and melancholy, owingto the dense woods that surround it on all sides. This wooded thicketmarks, on this point of the peninsula, the last effort of the vigorousvegetation of Normandy. As soon as its edge has been crossed, the viewextends suddenly and without obstacle over the vast moors which form thetriangular plateau of the Cape La Hague; fields of furze and heather, stone fences without cement, here and there a cross of granite, on theright and on the left the distant undulations of the ocean--such is thesevere but grand landscape that is suddenly unfolded to the eyes beneaththe unobstructed light of the heavens. 

Monsieur de Lucan was born in Vastville. The poetic reminiscences ofchildhood mingled in his imagination with the natural poetry of that site, and made it dear to him. Under pretext of hunting, he came on a pilgrimageto it every year. Since his marriage only, he had given up that habit ofthe heart, in order not to leave Clotilde, who was detained in Paris byher daughter; but it had been agreed upon that they would go and burythemselves in that retreat for a season as soon as they had recoveredtheir liberty. Clotilde only knew Vastville from her husband'senthusiastic descriptions; she loved it on his representations, and it wasfor her, in advance, an enchanted spot. Nevertheless, when the carriagethat brought her from the station entered, at nightfall, among the woodedhills, in the gloomy avenue that led up to the chateau, she felt animpression as of cold. 

"Mon Dieu! my dear, " she said, laughingly, "your chateau is a perfectcastle of Udolpho!"

Lucan excused his chateau as best he could, and protested, moreover, thathe was ready to leave it the very next day, if she were not better pleasedwith its appearance after sunrise. 

It was not long before she became passionately fond of it. Her happiness, hitherto so constrained, blossomed freely for the first time in thatsolitude, and shed upon it a charming light. She even expressed the wishof spending the winter and waiting there for Julia, who was to return toFrance in the course of the following year. Lucan offered some slightopposition to that project, which appeared to him rather over-heroic for aParisian, but ended by adopting it, too happy himself to harbor theromance of his love in that romantic spot. He began, however, taxing hisingenuity to attenuate what there might be too austere in that abode, byopening relations with some of the neighbors for Clotilde's benefit, andby procuring her, at intervals, her mother's society. Madame de Pers waskind enough to lend herself to that combination, although the country wasgenerally repulsive to her, and Vastville in particular had in her eyes asinister character. She pretended that she heard at night noises in thewalls and moans in the woods. She slept with one eye open and two candlesburning. The magnificent cliffs that bordered the coast a short distanceoff, and which they tried to make her admire, caused her a painfulsensation. 

"Very fine!" she said, "very wild! quite wild! But it makes me sick; Ifeel as though I were on top of the towers of Notre Dame! Besides, mychildren, love beautifies everything, and I understand your transportsperfectly. As to myself, you must excuse me if I do not share them. I cannever go into ecstasies over such a country as this. I am as fond of thecountry as any one, but this is not the country--it is the desert, ArabiaPetroea, I know not what. And as to your chateau, my dear friend--I amsorry to tell you so: it has a savor of crime. Look well, and you'll seethat a murder has been committed in it. "

"Why, no, my dear madam, " replied Lucan laughingly, "I know perfectly thehistory of my family, and I can guarantee you--"

"Rest assured, my friend, that some one has been killed in it--in oldtimes. You know how little they troubled themselves about those thingsformerly!"

Julia's letters to her mother were frequent. It was a regular journal oftravels written helter-skelter, with a striking originality of style, inwhich the vivacity of the impressions was corrected by that shade ofhaughty irony which was a peculiarity of the writer. Julia spoke ratherbriefly of her husband, but always in pleasant terms. There was generallya rapid and kindly postscript addressed to Monsieur de Lucan. 

Monsieur de Moras was more chary of descriptions. He seemed to see no onebut his wife in Italy. He extolled her beauty, still further enhanced, hesaid, by the contact of all those marvels of art with which she wasbecoming impregnated; he praised her extraordinary taste, herintelligence, and even her good disposition. In this latter respect, shewas extremely matured, and he found her almost too staid and too grave forher age. These particulars delighted Clotilde, and finished instillinginto her heart a peace she had never yet enjoyed. 

The count's letters were not less reassuring for the future than thepresent. He did not think it necessary, he said, to urge Julia on thesubject of her reconciliation with her step-father; but he felt that shewas quite ready for it. He was, besides, preparing her more and more forit by conversing habitually with her of the old friendship that united himto Monsieur de Lucan, of their past life, of their travels, of the perilsthey had braved together. Not only did Julia hear these narratives withoutrevolt, but she often solicited them, as if she had regretted herprejudices, and had sought good reasons to forget them. 

"Come, Pylades, speak to me of Orestes!" she would say. 

After having spent the whole winter season and part of the spring inItaly, Monsieur and Madame de Moras visited Switzerland, announcing theirintention of sojourning there until the middle of summer. The thoughtoccurred to Monsieur and Madame de Lucan to go and join them there, andthus abruptly bring about a reconciliation that seemed henceforth to bebut a mere matter of form. Clotilde was preparing to submit that projectto her daughter when she received, one beautiful May morning, thefollowing letter dated from Paris:

"BELOVED MOTHER:--'No more Switzerland!' too much Switzerland! Here I am;don't disturb yourself. I know how much you are enjoying yourself atVastville. We'll go and join you there one of these fine mornings, andwe'll all come home together in the autumn. I only ask of you a few daysto look after our future establishment here. 

"We are at the Grand Hotel. I did not choose to stop at your house, forall sorts of reasons, nor at my grandmother's, who, however, insisted verykindly upon our doing so:

"'Oh! mon Dieu! my dear children--that must not be--in a hotel! why, thatis not proper. You cannot remain in a hotel! come and stay with me. MonDieu! you'll be very uncomfortable. You'll be camping out, as it were. Idon't even know how I'll manage to give you anything to eat, for my cookis sick abed, and that stupid coachman of mine, by the way, has a stye onhis eye! But why not let people know you were coming? You fall upon melike two flower-pots from a window! It's incredible! You are in goodhealth, my friend? I need not ask you. It shows plainly enough. And you, my beautiful pet? Why! it is the sun; the sun itself. Hide yourself--youare dazzling my eyes! Have you any luggage? Well, we'll just put it in theparlor; it can't be helped. And as to yourselves, I'll give you my ownroom. I'll engage a housekeeper and hire a driver from some livery stable. You'll not be in my way at all, not at all, not at all!'

"In short, we did not accept. 

"But the explanation of this sudden return! Here it is:

"'Are you not tired of Switzerland, my dear?' I asked of my husband. 

"'I am tired of Switzerland, ' replied that faithful echo. 

"'Suppose we go away, then?'

"And away we went. 

"Glad and moved to the bottom of my soul at the thought of soon kissingyou, JULIA. 

"P. S. --I beg Monsieur de Lucan not to intimidate me. "

The days that followed were delightfully busy for Clotilde. She herselfunpacked the parcels that constantly kept coming, and put the contentsaway with her own maternal hands. She unfolded and folded again, shecaressed those skirts, those waists of fine and perfumed linen, which werealready to her like a part of her daughter's person. Lucan, a littlejealous, surprised her meditating lovingly over these pretty things. Shewent to the stables to see Julia's horse, which had followed soon afterthe boxes; she gave him lumps of sugar and chatted with him. She filledwith flowers and verdant foliage the apartments set apart for the youngcouple. 

This fever of happiness soon came to its happy termination. About a weekafter her arrival in Paris, Julia wrote to her mother that they expected, her husband and herself, to leave that evening, and that they would be inCherbourg the next morning. Clotilde prepared, of course, to go and meetthem with her carriage. Monsieur de Lucan, after duly conferring with heron the subject, thought best not to accompany her. He feared that he mightinterfere with the first emotions of the return, and yet, not wishing thatJulia should attribute his absence to a lack of attention, he resolved togo and meet the travelers on horseback. 

CHAPTER V. 

FATHER AND STEP-DAUGHTER. 

It was on one of the first days of June. Clotilde had left early in themorning, fresh and radiant as the dawn. Two hours later, Lucan mounted hishorse and started at a walk. The roads are lovely in Normandy at thisseason. The hawthorn hedges perfume the country, and sprinkle here andthere the edges of the road with their rosy snow. A profusion of freshverdure, dotted with wild flowers, covers the face of the ditches. Allthat, under the gay morning sun, is a feast for the eyes. M. De Lucan, however, greatly contrary to his custom, bestowed but very slightattention upon the spectacle of that smiling nature. He was preoccupied, to a degree that surprised himself, with his coming meeting with hisstep-daughter. Julia had been such a besetting thought in his mind that hehad retained of her an exaggerated impression. He strove in vain torestore her to her natural proportions, which were, after all, only thoseof a child, formerly a naughty child, now a prodigal child. He had becomeaccustomed to invest her, in his imagination, with a mysterious importanceand a sort of fatal power, of which he found it difficult to strip her. Helaughed and felt irritated at his own weakness; but he experienced anagitation mingled with curiosity and vague uneasiness, at the moment ofbeholding face to face that sphinx whose shadow had so long disturbed hislife, and who now came in person to sit at his fireside. 

An open barouche, decked with parasols, appeared at the summit of a hill;Lucan saw a head leaning and a handkerchief waving outside the carriage;he urged at once his horse to a gallop. Almost at the same instant thecarriage stopped, and a young woman jumped lightly upon the road; sheturned around to address a few words to her traveling-companions, andadvanced alone toward Lucan. Not wishing to be outdone in politeness, healighted also, handed his horse to the groom who followed him, and startedwith cheerful alacrity in the direction of the young woman, whom he didnot recognize, but who was evidently Julia. She was coming toward himwithout haste, with a sliding walk, rocking gently her flexible figure. Asshe drew near, she threw off her vail with a rapid motion of her hand, andLucan was enabled to find again upon that youthful face, in those largeand slightly clouded eyes, and the pure and stretching arch of theeyebrows, some features of the child he had known. 

When Julia's glance met that of Lucan, her pale complexion became suffusedwith a purple blush. 

He bowed very low to her, and with a smile full of affectionate grace:

"Welcome!" he said. 

"Thank you, sir, " said Julia, in a voice whose grave and melodious suavitystruck Lucan; "friends, are we not?" And she held out both her hands tohim with charming resolution. 

He drew her gently to himself to kiss her; but thinking that he felt aslight resistance in the suddenly stiffening arms of his step-daughter, hecontented himself with kissing her wrist just above her glove. Thenaffecting to look at her with a polite admiration, which, however, wasperfectly sincere:

"I really feel, " he said, laughingly, "like asking you to whom I have thehonor of speaking. "

"You find me grown?" she said, showing her dazzling teeth. 

"Surprisingly so, " said Lucan; "most surprisingly. I understand Pierreperfectly now. "

"Poor Pierre!" said Julia; "he is so fond of you. Don't let us keep himwaiting any longer, if you please. "

They started in the direction of the carriage, in front of which Monsieurde Moras was awaiting them, and while walking side by side:

"What a lovely country!" resumed Julia. "And the sea quite near?"

"Quite near. "

"We'll take a ride on horseback after breakfast, will we not?"

"Quite willingly; but you must be horribly fatigued, my dear child. Excuseme! my dear--? By the way, how do you wish me to call you?"

"Call me madam. I was such a bad child!"

And she broke forth into a roll of that sudden, graceful, but somewhatequivocal laughter that was habitual with her. Then raising her voice:

"You may come, Pierre; your friend is my friend now!"

She left the two men shaking hands cordially, and exchanging the usualgreetings, jumped into the carriage, and resuming her seat at her mother'sside:

"Mother, " she said, kissing her at the same time, "the meeting came offvery well--didn't it, Monsieur de Lucan?"

"Very well, indeed, " said Lucan, laughingly, "except some minor details. "

"Oh! you are too hard to please, sir!" said Julia, drawing her wrappingsaround her. 

The next moment Monsieur de Lucan was cantering by the carriage door, while the three travelers inside were indulging in one of those expansivetalks that usually follow the happy solution of a dreaded crisis. Clotilde, henceforth in the full possession of all her affections, wasfairly soaring in the ethereal blue. 

"You are too handsome, mother, " said Julia. "With such a big girl as I am, it is a positive crime!"

And she kissed her again. 

Lucan, while participating in the conversation and doing to Julia thehonors of the landscape, was trying to sum up within himself hisimpressions of the ceremony which had just taken place. Upon the whole hethought, as did his step-daughter, that it had come off very well, although it was not quite perfection. Perfection would have been to findin Julia a plain and unaffected woman, who would have simply thrownherself in her step-father's arms and laughed with him at her spoiltchild's escapade; but he had never expected Julia's manners to be quite asfrank and open as that. She had done in the present circumstances all thatcould be expected of a nature like hers; she had shown herself graciouslyfriendly; she had, it is true, imparted to this first interview a certainsolemn and dramatic turn. She was romantic, and as Lucan was tolerably sohimself, this whim of hers had not proved unpleasant to him. 

He had been, moreover, agreeably surprised at the beauty of Madame deMoras, which was indeed striking. The severe regularity of her features, the deep luster of her blue eyes fringed with long black lashes, theexquisite harmony of her form were not her only, nor indeed her principalattractions; she owed her rare and personal charm to a sort of strangegrace mingled with flexibility and strength, that lent enchantment to herevery motion. She had in the play of her countenance, in her step, in hergestures, the sovereign ease of a woman who does not feel a single weakpoint in her beauty, and who moves, grows, and blossoms with all thefreedom of a child in his cradle or a fallow deer in the forest. Made asshe was, she had no difficulty in dressing well; the simplest costumesfitted her person with an elegant precision that caused the Baroness dePers to say in her inaccurate though expressive language:

"A pair of kid gloves would be enough to dress her with. "

During that same day and those that followed, Julia conquered new titlesto Monsieur de Lucan's good graces, by manifesting a strong liking for thechateau of Vastville and the surrounding sites. The chateau pleased herfor its romantic style, its old-fashioned garden ornamented with yews andevergreens, the lonely avenues of the park, and its melancholy woodsscattered with ruins. She went into ecstasies at the sight of the vastheather plains lashed by the ocean winds, the trees with twisted andconvulsive tops, the tall granite cliffs worn by the everlasting waves. 

"All that, " she said, laughingly, "has a great deal of character;" and asshe had a great deal of it herself, she felt in her element. She had foundthe home of her dreams, she was happy. 

Her mother, to whom she paid up in passionate effusions all arrearages oftenderness, was still more so. 

The greater part of the day was spent riding about on horseback. Afterdinner, Julia, with that joyous and somewhat feverish spirit that animatedher, related her travels, parodying in a good-natured manner her ownenthusiasm and her husband's relative indifference in presence of themasterpieces of antique art. She illustrated these recollections withscenes of mimicry in which she displayed the skill of a fairy, theimagination of an artist, and sometimes the broad humor of a low comedian. In a turn of the hand, with a flower, a bit of silk, a sheet of paper, shecomposed a Neapolitan, Roman, or Sicilian head-dress. She performed scenesfrom ballets or operas, pushing back the train of her dress with a tragicsweep of her foot, and accentuating strongly the commonplace exclamationsof Italian lyricism:

"Oh, Ciel! Crudel! Perfido! Oh, dio! Perdona!"

Or else, kneeling on an arm-chair, she imitated the voice and manner of apreacher she had heard in Rome, and who did not seem to have sufficientlyedified her. 

Through all these various performances she never lost a particle of hergrace, and her most comical attitudes retained a certain elegance. 

After all these frolics she would resume her expression of a listlessqueen. Beneath the charm of the life and prestige of this brilliantnature, Monsieur de Lucan readily forgave Julia the caprices andpeculiarities of which she was lavishly prodigal, especially toward herstep-father. She showed herself generally with him what she had been atthe start; friendly and polite, with a shade of haughty irony; but she hadstrong inequalities of temper. Lucan surprised sometimes her gaze rivetedupon him with a painful and almost fierce expression. One day she repelledwith sullen rudeness the hand he offered to assist her in alighting fromher horse or in climbing over a fence. She seemed to avoid every occasionof finding herself alone with him, and when she could not escape atete-a-tete of a few moments, she manifested either restless irritation ormocking impertinence. Lucan fancied she reproached herself sometimes withbelying too much her former sentiments, and that she thought she owed itto herself to give them from time to time a token of fidelity. He wasgrateful to her, however, for reserving for himself alone these equivocalmanifestations, and for not troubling her mother with them. Upon the wholehe attached but a slight importance to these symptoms. If there still wasin the affectionate manifestations of his step-daughter something of astruggle and an effort, it was on the part of that haughty nature anexcusable feature, a last resistance, which he flattered himself soon toremove by multiplying his delicate attentions toward her. 

Some two weeks after Julia's arrival, there was a ball given by theMarchioness de Boisfresnay, in her chateau of Boisfresnay, which issituated two or three miles from Vastville. Monsieur and Madame de Lucanwere on pleasant visiting-terms with the marchioness. They went to thatball with Julia and her husband, the gentlemen in the coupe, the ladies, on account of their dresses, occupying the carriage alone. Towardmidnight, Clotilde took her husband aside, and pointing to her daughter, who was waltzing in the adjoining parlor with a naval officer:

"Hush! my dear, " she said; "I have a frightful headache, and Pierre isfairly bored to death; but we have not the courage to take Julia away soearly. Do you wish to make yourself very agreeable? You'll bring her home, and we will start now, Pierre and myself; we'll leave you the carriage. "

"Very well, dear, " said Lucan, "run off, then. "

Clotilde and Monsieur de Moras slipped away at once. 

A moment later Julia, cleaving her way scornfully through the throng thatparted before her as before an angel of light, raised her superb brow andmade a sign to Lucan. 

"I don't see mother, " she said. 

Lucan informed her in a few words of the arrangement which had just beensettled upon. A sudden flash darted across Julia's eyes; her brows becamecontracted; she shrugged her shoulders slightly without replying, andreturned into the ball-room, waltzing through the crowd with the sametranquil insolence. She betook herself again to the arm of a navalofficer, and seemed to enjoy whirling in all her splendor. And indeed herball-dress added a strange luster to her beauty. Her shoulders and throat, emerging from her dress with a sort of chaste indifference, retained evenin the animation of the dance the cold and lustrous purity of marble. 

Lucan asked her to waltz with him; she hesitated, but having consulted hermemory, she discovered that she had not yet exhausted the list of navalofficers who had swooped down in squadrons upon that rich prey. At the endof an hour she got tired of being admired and called for the carriage. Asshe was draping herself in her wrappings in the vestibule, her step-fathervolunteered his services. 

"No! I beg of you, " she said, impatiently; "men don't know--don't know atall!"

Then she threw herself in the carriage with a wearied look. However, asthe horses were starting:

"Smoke, sir, " she said with a better grace. 

Lucan thanked her for the permission, but without availing himself of it;then, while making all his little arrangements of neighborly comfort:

"You were remarkably handsome to-night, my dear child!" he said. 

"Monsieur, " said Julia, in a nonchalant but affirmative tone, "I forbidyou to think me handsome, and I forbid you to call me 'my dear child!'"

"As you please, " said Lucan. "Well, then, you are not handsome, you arenot dear to me, and you are not a child. "

"As for being a child, no!" she said, energetically. 

She wound her vail around her head, crossed her arms over her bosom, andsettled herself in her corner, where a stray moonbeam came occasionally toplay over her whiteness. 

"May I sleep?" she asked. 

"Why, most certainly! Shall I close the window?"

"If you please. My flowers will not incommode you?"

"Not in the least. "

After a pause:

"Monsieur de Lucan?" resumed Julia. 

"Dear madam?"

"Do explain to me in what consist the usages of society; for there arethings which I do not understand. Is it admissible--is it proper to allowa woman of my age and a gentleman of yours to return from a ball, tete-a-tete, at two o'clock in the morning?"

"But, " said Lucan, not without a certain gravity, "I am not a gentleman; Iam your mother's husband. "

"Ah! that is true; of course, you are my mother's husband!" she said, emphasizing these words in a ringing voice, which caused Lucan to fearsome explosion. 

But, appearing to overcome a violent emotion, she went on in an almostcheerful tone:

"Yes, you are my mother's husband; and what is more, you are, according tomy notion, a very bad husband for my mother. "

"According to your notion!" said Lucan, quietly. "And why so?"

"Because you are not at all suited to her. "

"Have you consulted your mother on that subject, my dear madam? It seemsto me that she must be a better judge of it than yourself. "

"I need not consult her. It is enough to see you both together. My motheris an angelic creature, whereas you;--no!"

"What am I, then?"

"A romantic, restless man--the very reverse, in fact. Sooner or later, you'll betray her. "

"Never!" said Lucan, somewhat sternly. 

"Are you quite sure of that, sir?" said Julia, riveting her gaze upon himfrom the depths of her hood. 

"Dear madam, " replied Monsieur de Lucan, "you were asking me, a momentsince, to explain to you what was proper and what was improper; well, itis improper that we should take, you your mother, and I my wife, as thetext for a jest of that kind, and consequently, it is proper that weshould drop the subject. "

She hushed, remained motionless and closed her eyes. In the course of aminute or two, Lucan saw a tear fall down her long eyelashes and roll overher cheek. 

"Mon Dieu! my child, " he said, "I have wounded your feelings! Allow me totender you my sincere apologies. "

"Keep your apologies to yourself!" she said, in a hoarse voice, openingher eyes wide at the same time. "I have no need of your apologies anymore than of your lessons! Your lessons! What have I done to deserve sucha humiliation? I cannot understand. What is there more innocent than mywords, and what do you expect me to tell you? Is it my fault if I am herealone with you! if I am compelled to speak to you?--if I know not what tosay? Why am I exposed to such things? Why ask me more than I can do? Itis presuming too much on my strength! It is enough--it is a thousandtimes too much already--to be compelled to act such a comedy as I amcompelled to act every day. God knows I am tired of it!"

Lucan found it difficult to overcome the painful surprise that had seizedhim. 

"Julia, " he said at last, "you were kind enough to tell me that we werefriends; I believed you. Is it not true, then?"

"No!"

After launching that word with somber energy, she wrapped up her headand face in her hood and vail, and remained during the rest of the wayplunged into a silence which Monsieur de Lucan did not attempt to disturb. 

CHAPTER VI. 

A DISILLUSION. 

After a few hours of painful sleep, Monsieur de Lucan rose the next day, his brain laden with cares. 

The resumption of hostilities, which had been clearly signified to himforeboded surely fresh troubles for his peace and fresh anguish forClotilde's happiness. Was he, then, about returning to those odiousagitations which had so long harassed his existence, and this time withoutany hopes of escape? How, indeed, was it possible not to despair of thatuntamable nature which age and reason, which so much attention andaffection had left unmoved in her prejudices and her hatred? How was itpossible to understand, and, above all, ever to overcome the quixoticsentiment, or rather the mania which had taken possession of thatconcentrated soul, and which was smoldering in it, ever ready to breakforth in furious outbursts?

Clotilde and Julia had not yet made their appearance. Lucan went to takea walk in the garden, to breathe once more the peace of his belovedsolitude, pending the anticipated storms. At the extremity of an alley ofevergreens, he discovered the Count de Moras, his arm resting on thepedestal of an old statue, and his eyes fixed on the ground. 

Monsieur de Moras had never been a dreamer, but since his arrival at thechateau, he had, on more than one occasion, manifested to Lucan amelancholy state of mind quite foreign to his natural disposition. Lucanhad felt alarmed; nevertheless, as he did not himself like any one tointrude upon his confidence, he had abstained from questioning him. 

They shook hands as they met. 

"You came home late last night?" inquired the count. 

"At about three o'clock. "

"Oh! _povero! Apropos_, thanks for your kindness to Julia. How did shebehave to you?"

"Why--well enough, " said Lucan--"a little peculiar, as usual. "

"Oh! peculiar of course!"

He smiled rather sadly, took Monsieur de Lucan's arm, and leading himthrough the meandering paths of the garden:

"_Voyons, mon cher_, " he said in a suppressed voice, "between you and me, what is Julia?"

"How, my friend?"

"Yes, what sort of a woman is my wife? If you know, do tell me, I beg ofyou. "

"Excuse me, but it is the very question I would like to ask of youmyself. "

"Of me?" said the count. "But I have not the slightest idea. She is aSphinx, a riddle, the solution of which escapes me completely. She bothcharms and frightens me. She is peculiar, you said? She is more than that;she is fantastic. She is not of this world. I know not whom or what I havemarried. You remember that cold and beautiful creature in the Arabiantales who rose at night to go and feast in the graveyard. It's absurd, butshe reminds me of that. "

The count's troubled look, the constrained laugh with which he accompaniedhis words, moved Lucan deeply. 

"So, then, " said the latter, "you are unhappy?"

"It is impossible to be more so, " replied the count, pressing his handhard. "I adore her, and I am jealous--without knowing of whom and of what!She does not love me--and yet she loves some one--she must love some one!How can I doubt it? Look at her; she is the very embodiment of passion;the fire of passion overflows in her words, in her looks, in the blood ofher veins! And near me, she is as cold as the statue upon a tomb!"

"Frankly, _mon cher_, " said Lucan, "you seem to exaggerate your disastersgreatly. In reality they seem to amount to very little. In the firstplace, you are seriously in love for the first time in your life, I think;you had heard a great deal said about love, about passion, and perhaps youwere expecting of them excessive wonders. In the second place, I must begyou to observe that very young women are rarely very passionate. The sortof coolness of which you complain is therefore quite easy to explainwithout the intervention of anything supernatural. Young women, I repeat, are generally idealists; their love has no substance. You ask of whom orof what you should be jealous? Be jealous, then, of all those vague andromantic aspirations that torment youthful imaginations; be jealous of thewind, of the tempest, of the barren moors, of the rugged cliffs, of my oldmanor, of my words and of my ruins--for Julia adores all that. Be jealous, above all, of that ardent worship she has avowed to her father's memory, and which still absorbs her--I have lately had a proof of the fact--thekeenest of her passion. "

"You do me good, " rejoined Pierre de Moras, breathing more freely, "andyet I had already thought of all these things. But if she does not lovenow, she will some day--and suppose it should not be me! Were she tobestow upon another all that she refuses me! my friend, " added the count, whose handsome features turned pale, "I would kill her with my own hand!"

"So much for being in love, " said Lucan; "and I, am I nothing more to you, then?"

"You, my friend, " said Moras with emotion, "you see my confidence in you!I have revealed to you weaknesses of which I am ashamed. Ah! why have Iever known any other feeling than that of friendship! Friendship alonereturns as much as it receives; it fortifies instead of enervating; it isthe only passion worthy of a man. Never forsake me, my friend; you willconsole me, whatever may happen. "

The bell that was ringing for breakfast called them back to the chateau. Julia pretended being tired and ailing. Under shelter of this pretext, hersilent humor, her more than dry answers to Lucan's polite questions, passed at first without awakening either her mother's or her husband'sattention; but during the remainder of the day, and amid the variousincidents of family life, Julia's aggressive tone and disagreeable mannerstoward Lucan became too strongly marked not to be noticed. However, asLucan had the patience and good taste not to seem to notice them, each onekept his own impressions to himself. The dinner was, that day, more quietthan usual. The conversation fell, toward the end of the meal, uponextremely delicate ground, and it was Julia who brought it there, though, however, without the least thought of evil. She was exhausting her mocking_verve_ upon a little boy of eight or ten--the son of the Marchioness deBoisfresnay--who had annoyed her extremely the night before, by paradingthrough the ball his own pretentious little person, and by throwinghimself pleasantly like a top between the legs of the gentlemen andthrough the dresses of the ladies. The marchioness went into ecstasies atthese charming pranks. Clotilde defended her mildly, alleging that thischild was her only son. 

"That is no reason for bestowing upon society one scoundrel the more, "said Lucan. 

"However, " rejoined Julia, who hastened to be no longer of her own opinionas soon as her step-father seemed to have rallied to it, "it is a wellacknowledged fact that spoiled children are those who turn out the best. "

"There are at least some exceptions, " said Lucan, coldly. 

"I know of none, " said Julia. 

"Mon Dieu!" said the Count de Moras in a tone of conciliation, "right orwrong, it is quite the fashion, nowadays, to spoil children. "

"It is a criminal fashion, " said Lucan. "Formerly their parents whippedthem, and thus made men of them. "

"When a man has such a disposition as that, " said Julia, "he does notdeserve to have any children--and he has none!" she added with a directlook that further aggravated the unkind and even cruel intention of herwords. 

Monsieur de Lucan turned very pale. Clotilde's eyes filled with tears. Julia, embarrassed at her triumph, left the room. Her mother, afterremaining for a few moments, her face covered with her hands, rose fromthe table and went to join her. 

"Now, _mon cher_, " said Monsieur de Moras as soon as he found himselfalone with Lucan, "what the mischief took place between you two lastnight? You did tell me something about it this morning, but I was so muchabsorbed in my own selfish preoccupations, that I paid no attention to it. But tell me, what did take place between you?"

"Nothing serious. Only I was able to satisfy myself that she had not yetforgiven my occupying a place which, according to her ideas, should neverhave been filled. "

"What would you advise me to do, George?" rejoined Monsieur de Moras. "Iam ready to do whatever you say. 

"My dear friend, " said Lucan, laying gently his hands upon Pierre'sshoulders, "don't be offended, but life in common, under such conditions, becomes a very difficult matter. It is best not to wait until someirreparable scene. In Paris we will be able to see each other withoutdifficulty. I advise you to take her away. "

"Suppose she is not willing. "

"I should speak firmly, " said Lucan, looking him straight in the eyes; "Ihave some work to do this evening; it happens well and will give you agood opportunity. In the meantime, _au revoir_. "

Monsieur de Lucan locked himself up in his library. An hour later, Clotilde came to join him. 

He could see that she had wept a great deal; but she held out her foreheadto him with her sweetest smile. While he was kissing her, she murmuredsimply and in a whisper:

"Forgive her for my sake!"

And the charming creature withdrew in haste to hide her emotions. 

The next morning, Monsieur de Lucan, who, as usual, had risen quite early, had been writing for some time near the library window, which opened atquite a moderate height on the garden. He was not a little surprised tosee his step-daughter's face appear among the honeysuckle vines that creptover the iron trellis of the balcony:

"Monsieur, " she said in her most melodious tone, "are you very busy?"

"Oh, not at all!" he replied, rising at the same time. 

"It's because, you see, the weather is perfectly delightful, " she said. "Will you come and take a walk with me?"

"Of course I will. "

"Well, come then. Good Heavens! how sweet this honeysuckle does smell!"

And she snatched off a few flowers, which she threw to Lucan through thewindow, with a burst of laughter. He fastened them in his button-hole, making the gesture of a man who understands nothing of what is going on, but who has no reason to be angry. 

He found her in fresh morning costume, stamping upon the sand with herlight and impatient foot. 

"Monsieur de Lucan, " she cries, gayly, "my mother wishes me to be amiablewith you, my husband wishes it, Heaven wills it, too, I suppose; that'swhy I am willing also, and I assure you that I can be very amiable when Itry. You'll see!"

"Is it possible?" said Lucan. 

"You'll see, sir!" she replied, dropping him with all possible grace, aregular stage curtsey. 

"And where are we going, pray, madam?"

"Wherever you like--through the woods, at random, if you please. "

The wooded hills came so close to the chateau, that they bordered with afringe of shade one side of the yard. Monsieur de Lucan and Julia took thefirst path that came in their way; but it was not long before Julia leftthe beaten road-way, to walk at hazard from tree to tree, wandering atrandom, beating the thickets with her cane, picking flowers or leaves, stopping in ecstasy before the luminous bands that striped here and therethe mossy carpets, frankly intoxicated with movement, open air, sunshine, and youth. While walking, she cast to her companion words of pleasantfellowship, playful interpellation, childish jests, and caused the woodsto ring again with the melody of her laughter. 

In her admiration for the wild flowers, she had gradually collected aregular bundle, of which Monsieur de Lucan accepted the burden withcheerful resignation. Noticing that he was almost bending under theweight, she sat down upon the gnarled roots of an old oak, in order, shesaid, to make a selection among all this pell-mell. She then took upon herlap the bundles of grass and flowers, and began throwing out everythingthat appeared to her of inferior quality. She handed over to Lucan, seateda step or two from her, whatever she thought fit to retain for the finalbouquet, justifying gravely her decision upon each plant that sheexamined:

"You, my dear, you are too thin! you're pretty, but too short! you, yousmell bad! you, you look stupid. "

Then, turning abruptly into another train of thought, which was not atfirst without causing some uneasiness to Monsieur de Lucan:

"It was you, wasn't it, who advised Pierre to speak to me with firmness?"

"I?" said Lucan, "what an idea!"

"It must have been you. You, " she went on again, speaking to her flowers, "you look sickly, good-night! Yes, it must have been you. One might thinkyou quite meek, to look at you, whereas, on the contrary, you are veryharsh, very tyrannical. "

"Ferocious!" said Lucan. 

"At any rate, I have no fault to find with you for that. You were right;poor Pierre is too weak with me. I like a man to be a man. And yet he isvery brave, is he not?"

"Extremely so, " said Lucan; "he is capable of the most energetic actions. "

"He looks like it, and yet with me--he is an angel. "

"It is because he loves you. "

"Quite probable!--some of those flowers are so curious. Look at this one;it looks like a little lady!"

"I hope that you love him too, my good Pierre?"

"Quite probable, too!"

After a pause, she shook her head:

"And why should I love him?"

"What a question!" said Lucan. "Why, because he is perfectly worthy ofbeing loved; because he has every quality; intelligence, heart, and evenbeauty--finally, because you have married him. "

"Monsieur de Lucan, will you allow me to tell you somethingconfidentially?"

"I beg you to do so. "

"That trip to Italy has been very injurious to me. "

"In what way?"

"Before my marriage, I did not think myself positively ugly, but I fanciedmyself at least quite plain. "

"Yes! Well?"

"Well! while traveling about Italy, among all those souvenirs and thosemarbles, so much admired, I made strange reflections. I said to myselfthat, after all, these princesses and goddesses of the ancient world, whodrove shepherds and kings mad, for whose sake wars broke out andsacrileges were committed, were persons pretty much after my own style. Then occurred to me the fatal idea of my own beauty! I felt that Idisposed of an exceptional power; that I was a sacred object that couldnot be given away for a vulgar trifle, and which could only be thereward--how can I say?--of a great deed or of a crime!"

Lucan remained for a moment astonished at the audacious naivete of thatlanguage. He thought best, however, to laugh at it. 

"But, my dear Julia, " he said, "take care; you mistake the age. We are nolonger in the days when nations went to war for the sake of a woman'spretty eyes. However, speak about it to Pierre; he has everything requiredto furnish the great action you want. As to the crime, I think you hadbetter give it up. "

"Do you think so?" said Julia. "What a pity!" she added, bursting out intoa hearty laugh. "You see, I tell you all the nonsense that comes in myhead. That's amiable enough, I hope, is it not?"

"It is certainly extremely amiable, " said Lucan. "Keep on. "

"With such precious encouragement, sir!" she said, rising and finishingher sentence with a courtesy; "but for the present, let us go tobreakfast. I recommend my bouquet to your attention. Hold the head down. Walk ahead, sir, and by the shortest road, if you please, for I have anappetite that is bringing tears to my eyes. "

Lucan took the path that led most directly to the chateau. She followedhim with nimble step, at times humming a cavatina, at others addressinghim fresh instructions as to the manner of holding her bouquet, ortouching him lightly with the end of her cane, to make him admire somebirds perched upon a branch. 

Clotilde and Monsieur de Moras were waiting for them, seated upon a benchoutside the gate of the chateau. The anxiety depicted upon theircountenances vanished at the sound of Julia's laughing voice. 

As soon as she saw them, she snatched the bouquet from Lucan's hands, rantoward Clotilde, and throwing on her lap her fragrant harvest:

"Mother, " she said, "we have had a delightful walk--I had a great deal offun; Monsieur de Lucan also, and what's more, he has improved very much bymy conversation, I opened up new horizons to him!"

She described with her hand a great curve in the air, to indicate theimmensity of the horizons she had opened up to Monsieur de Lucan. Then, drawing her mother toward the dining-room, and snuffing the air withapparent relish:

"Oh! that kitchen of my mother's!" she said. "What an aroma!"

This charming humor, which was a source of great rejoicing to all theguests of the chateau, never flagged during that entire day, and, mostunexpected of all, it continued during the next and the following dayswithout perceptible change. If Julia did still nurture any remnants of hermoody cares, she had at least the kindness of keeping them to herself, andto suffer alone. More than once, still, she was seen returning from hersolitary excursions with gloomy eye and clouded brow; but she shook offthese equivocal dispositions as soon as she found herself again in thefamily circle, and was all amiability. 

Toward Monsieur de Lucan particularly she showed herself most agreeable;feeling, probably, that she had many amends to make in that direction. Shewent so far as to take up a great deal of his time without muchdiscretion, and to call him a little too often in requisition for walks orrides, for tapestry drawings, for playing duets with her, sometimes fornothing, simply to disturb him, standing in front of his windows, andasking him, in the midst of his reading, all sorts of burlesque questions. All this was charming; Monsieur de Lucan lent himself to it with theutmost good nature, and did not surely deserve great credit for doing so. 

About this time, the Baroness de Pers came to spend three days with herdaughter. She was at once advised, with full particulars, of themiraculous change that had taken place in Julia's character, and of herbehavior toward her step-father. On witnessing the gracious attentionswhich she lavished upon Monsieur de Lucan, Madame de Pers manifested theliveliest satisfaction, in the midst of which, however, could be seen attimes some slight traces of her former prejudices against hergrand-daughter. 

The day before the expected departure of the baroness, some of theneighbors were invited to dinner for her gratification, for she had butvery little taste for the intimacy of family life, and was passionatelyfond of strangers. For want of time to do any better, they gave her forcompany, the cure of Vastville, the local physician, the receiver oftaxes, and recorder of deeds, all of whom were tolerably frequent guestsat the chateau, and great admirers of Julia. It was doubtless not a greatdeal; it was enough, however, to furnish to the baroness an occasion forwearing one of her handsome dinner-dresses. 

Julia, during the dinner, seemed to make it a point to effect the conquestof the cure, a simple old man, who yielded to his fair neighbor'sfascinations with a sort of joyous stupor. She made him eat, she made himdrink, she made him laugh. 

"What a little serpent she is, isn't she, Monsieur le Cure?" said thebaroness. 

"She is very lovely, " said the cure. 

"Enough to make one shudder, " rejoined the baroness. 

In the evening, after waltzing for a little while around the room, Julia, accompanied by her husband, sang in her beautiful, grave voice, someunpublished melodies and national songs she had brought back from Italy. One of these tunes having reminded her of a sort of tarentella she hadseen danced by some women at Procida, she requested her husband to playit. She was explaining at the same time, with much animation, how thistarentella was danced, giving a rapid outline of the steps, the gesturesand the attitudes; then, suddenly carried away by the ardor of hernarrative:

"Wait a moment, Pierre, " she said, "I am going to dance it. That will bemuch more simple. "

She lifted the long train of her dress, which impeded her movements, andrequested her mother to loop it up with pins. In the meantime she wasright busy herself; there were on the mantel-piece, and on the consoles, vases filled with flowers and verdure; she drew freely from them with hernimble fingers, and, standing before a mirror, she fastened and twinedpell-mell, in her magnificent hair, flowers, leaves, bunches, ears, anything that happened to fall under her hands. With her head loaded withthat heavy and quivering wreath, she came to place herself in the centerof the parlor. 

"Go on now, dear!" she said to Monsieur de Moras. He played thetarentella, that began with a sort of slow and measured ballet-step, whichJulia performed in her own masterly style, folding and unfolding in turn, like two garlands, her peri's arms; then the rhythm becoming more and moreanimated, she struck the floor with her rapid and repeated steps, with thewild suppleness and the wanton smile of a young bacchante. Suddenly shebrought the performance to a close with a long slide that carried her, allpanting, before Monsieur de Lucan, seated opposite to her. There, she bentone knee, lay with rapid gesture both her hands upon her hair, and tossingabout at the same time her inclined head, she shook off her crown in ashower of flowers at the feet of Lucan, saying in her sweetest voice, andin a tone of gracious homage:

"There! sir!"

After which, she rose, and, still sliding, made her way to an arm-chair, into which she threw herself, and taking up the cure's three-cornered hat, she began to fan herself vigorously with it. 

In the midst of the applause and the laughter that filled the parlor, theBaroness de Pers drew gently nearer to Lucan on the sofa which they werejointly occupying, and said to him in a whisper:

"Tell me, my dear sir, what in the world is the meaning of this newsystem? Do you know that I still preferred the old style myself?"

"How, dear madam? And why so?" said Lucan simply. 

But before the baroness had time to explain, admitting that such was herintention, Julia was taken with another fancy. 

"Really, " she said, "I am smothering here. Monsieur de Lucan, do offer meyour arm. "

She went out, and Lucan followed her. She stopped in the vestibule tocover her head with her great white vail, seemed to hesitate between thedoor that led into the garden and that which led into the yard, and thendeciding:

"To the Ladies' Walk, " she said; "it's coolest there. "

"The Ladies' Walk, " which was Julia's favorite strolling resort, openedopposite the avenue, on the other side of the court-yard. It was a gentlysloping path contrived between the rocky base of the wooded hill and thebanks of a ravine that seemed to have been one of the moats of the oldcastle. A brook flowed at the bottom of this ravine with a melancholymurmur; it became merged, a little farther off, into a small lake shadedby willows, and guarded by two old marble nymphs, to which the Ladies'Walk was indebted for its name, consecrated by the local tradition. Half-way between the yard and the pond, fragments of wall and brokenarches, the evident remnants of some outer fortification, rose against thehill-side; for the space of a few paces, these ruins bordered the pathwith their heavy buttresses, and projected into it, together with festoonsof ivy and briar, a mass of shade which night changed into densestdarkness. It looked then as if the passage was broken by an abyss. Thegloomy character of this site was not, however, without some mitigatingfeatures; the path was strewn with fine, dry sand; rustic benches stoodagainst the bluff; finally, the grassy banks that sloped down into theravine were dotted with hyacinths, violets, and dwarf roses whose perfumerose and lingered in that shaded alley like the odor of incense in achurch. 

It was then about the end of July, and the heat had been overpoweringduring the day. After leaving the atmosphere of the court-yard, stillaglow with the fires of the setting sun, Julia breathed eagerly the coolair of the woods and of the brook. 

"Dieu! how delightful this is!" she said. 

"But I am afraid this may be a little too delightful, " said Lucan; "allowme. "

And he wound up in a double fold round her neck the floating ends of hervail. 

"What! do you value my life, then?" she said. 

"Most undoubtedly. "

"That's magnanimous!"

She walked a few steps in silence, resting lightly upon the arm of hercompanion, and rocking, in her peculiar way, her graceful figure. 

"Your good cure must take me for a species of demon, " she added. 

"He is not the only one, " said Lucan, with ironical coldness. 

She laughed a short and constrained laugh; then, after another pause, andwhile continuing to walk with downcast eyes:

"You must certainly hate me a little less now; say, don't you?"

"A little less. "

"Be serious, will you? I know that I have made you suffer a great deal. Are you beginning to forgive me now?"

Her voice had assumed an accent of tenderness quite unusual to it, andwhich touched Monsieur de Lucan. 

"I forgive you with all my heart, my child, " he replied. 

She stopped, and grasping his two hands:

"True? We will not hate each other any more?" she said, in a low andapparently timid tone. "You love me a little?"

"Thank you, " said Lucan, with grave emotion; "thank you; I love you verymuch. "

As she was drawing him gently toward her he clasped her in a frank andaffectionate embrace, and pressed his lips upon the forehead she washolding up to him; but at the same instant he felt her supple figurestiffen; her head rolled back; then she sank bodily, and slipped in hisarms like a flower whose stem has suddenly been mowed down. 

There was a bench within two steps; he carried her there, but after layingher upon it, instead of affording her the required assistance, he remainedin an attitude of strange immobility before that lovely and helpless form. A long silence followed, broken only by the gentle and monotonous rippleof the brook. Shaking off his stupor at last, Monsieur de Lucan called outseveral times in a loud and almost harsh voice:

"Julia! Julia!"

As she remained motionless still, he ran down into the ravine, took somewater in the hollow of his hand, and bathed her temples with it. In thecourse of a minute or two, he saw her eyes opening in the darkness, and hehelped her raise her head. 

"What is it?" she said, looking at him with a wild expression; "what hashappened, sir?"

"Why, you fainted, " said Lucan, laughing. 

"Fainted?" repeated Julia. 

"Of course; that's just what I feared; you must have been benumbed by thecold. Can you walk? Come, try. "

"Perfectly well, " she said, rising and taking his arm. 

Like all those who experience sudden prostration, Julia remembered, but ina very indistinct manner, the circumstance that had brought about herfainting. 

In the meantime they had resumed their walk slowly in the direction of thechateau. 

"Fainted!" she repeated, gayly; "mon Dieu! how perfectly ridiculous!"

Then, with sudden animation:

"But what did I say? Did I speak at all?"

"You said, 'I am cold!' and away you went!"

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. "

"Did you think I was dead?"

"I did hope for a moment that you were, " said Lucan, coldly. 

"How horrid of you! But we were talking before that. What were we saying?"

"We were making a pact of amity and friendship. "

"Well! it doesn't look much like it now, Monsieur de Lucan!"

"Madam?"

"You seem positively angry with me because I fainted. "

"Of course I am. In the first place, I don't like that sort of adventures, and then, it is wholly your own fault; you are so imprudent, sounreasonable!"

"Oh! mon Dieu! Don't you want a switch?"

And as the lights of the chateau were coming into sight:

"_Apropos_, don't trouble mother with any of that nonsense, will you?"

"Certainly not; you may rest easy on that score. "

"You are just as cross as you can be, you know?"

"Probably I am; but I have just spent there a few minutes so verypainful. "

"I pity you with all my heart, " said Julia, dryly. 

She threw off her vail in the vestibule, and returned to the parlor. 

The Baroness de Pers, who was to leave early the next day, had alreadyretired. Julia performed some four-handed pieces on the piano with hermother. Monsieur de Lucan took the place of the "dummy" at the whisttable, and the evening ended quietly. 

CHAPTER VII. 

VICTORY AND DEFEAT. 

The next morning, Clotilde was preparing to accompany her mother to thestation in the carriage; Monsieur de Lucan, detained at the chateau by abusiness appointment, was present to take leave of his mother-in-law. Heremarked the thoughtful countenance of the baroness; she was silent, muchagainst her habit, and she cast embarrassed looks upon him; she approachedhim several times with a constrained smile and confidential manner, butconfined herself to addressing to him a few commonplace words. Availingherself at last of a moment when Clotilde was giving some orders, sheleaned out of the carriage-window, and, pressing significantly Monsieur deLucan's hand:

"Be true and faithful to her, sir!" she said. 

The carriage started almost immediately, but not before he had had time tonotice that her eyes were filled with tears. 

The matter that was engrossing Monsieur de Lucan's attention at the time, and on the subject of which he had had a long conversation that verymorning with his lawyer and his advocate, who had come over from Caenduring the night, was an old family law-suit which the mayor of Vastville, an ambitious personage and restless busy-body, had taken pride in bringingto light again. The question at issue was a claim for some public propertythe effect of which would have been to strip Monsieur de Lucan of aportion of his timbered lands and to curtail materially his patrimonialestate. He had gained his suit in the lower court, but an appeal was soonto be heard, and he was not without fears as to the final result. He hadno difficulty in using that pretext, to account during the next few days, to the eyes of the inhabitants of the chateau, for a severity ofphysiognomy, a briefness of language, and a fondness for solitude, whichconcealed perhaps graver cares. That pretext, however, soon failed him. Atelegram informed him, early the following week, that the suit had beenfinally decided in his favor, and he was compelled to manifest on thisoccasion an apparent joy that was far indeed from his heart. 

He resumed from that moment the usual routine of family life to whichJulia continued to impart the movement of her active imagination. However, he ceased to lend himself with the same affectionate familiarity to thecaprices of his step-daughter. She noticed it; but she was not the onlyone who did. Lucan detected surprise in the eyes of Monsieur de Moras, reproaches in those of Clotilde. A new danger appeared before him; he wasacting in a manner which it was equally impossible, equally perilous toexplain or to allow being interpreted. 

With time, however, the frightful light that had flashed across his brainin a recent circumstance was growing gradually fainter; it had ceased tofill his mind with the same convincing force. He conceived doubts; heaccused himself at times on a veritable aberration; he charged thebaroness with cruel and guilty prejudices; he thought, in a word, that, atall events, the wisest course was to avoid believing in the drama, andgiving it life by taking a serious part in it. Unfortunately Julia'sdisposition, full of surprises and unforeseen whims, scarcely admitted ofany regular plan of conduct toward her. 

One beautiful afternoon, the guests of the chateau accompanied by a few ofthe neighbors, had gone on a horseback excursion to the extremity of CapeLa Hague. On the return home, and when they had come about half-way, Julia, who had been remarkably quiet all day, left the principal group ofriders, and, casting aside to Monsieur de Lucan an expressive glance, sheurged her horse slightly forward. He overtook her almost immediately. Shecast upon him again an oblique glance, and abruptly, with her bitterestand most incisive accent:

"Is my presence dangerous to you, sir?"

"How, dangerous?" he said, laughingly. "I do not understand you, my dearmadam. "

"Why do you avoid me? What have I done to you? What means this new anddisagreeable manner which you affect toward me? It is really a verystrange thing that you should become less polite to me, as I am more so toyou. They persecute one for years to induce me to show you a pleasantcountenance, and when I try my best to do so, you pout. What does it mean?What has got into your head? I should be infinitely curious to know. "

"It is quite simple, and I am going to enlighten you in two words. It hasgot into my head that after being not very amiable to me, you are nowalmost too much so. I am sincerely touched and charmed at it; but I reallyfear, sometimes, to turn too much to my own profit attentions to which Iam far from having the sole right. You know how fond I am of your husband. There can be no question of jealousy in this case, of course; but a man'slove is proud and prompt to take umbrage. Without stooping to low andotherwise impossible sentiments, Pierre, seeing himself somewhatneglected, might feel offended and afflicted, at which we would both begreatly grieved, would we not?"

"I do not know how to do anything half-way, " she said with a gesture ofimpatience. "How can I change my nature? It is with my own heart, and notwith that of another, that I love and that I hate; and then, why should itnot enter into my plans to excite Pierre's jealousy? My old traditionalhatred for you has perhaps made this deep calculation; he would killeither you or me, and that would be as good a denouement as any other. "

"You must allow me to prefer another, " said Lucan, still trying, butwithout much success, to give a cheerful turn to this wildly passionateconversation. 

"However, " she went on, "you may rest easy, my dear sir. Pierre is notjealous. He suspects nothing, as they say in plays!"

She laughed one of her wicked laughs, and added at once in a graver tone:

"And what could he suspect? In being amiable toward you, I am merelyacting under order, and no one can tell how much of it is genuine and howmuch put on. "

"I feel quite certain that you don't know yourself, " he said, laughingly. "You are a person of naturally restless disposition; you requireagitation, and when there is none you try to imitate it as best as youcan. Whether you like, or whether you don't like your step-father, is nota very dramatic affair. There is no room here for any but very simple andvery ordinary sentiments. It is well enough to complicate them alittle--is it not, my dear?"

"Yes, my dear!" she said, emphasizing ironically the last word. 

Whereupon she started her horse at a gallop. 

They were then just reaching the edge of the woods. He soon saw her leavethe direct road that led across them, and take a path over the heath as ifintending to dash through the thickest of the timber. At the same instantClotilde ran up to him, and touching his shoulder with the tip of herwhip:

"Where in the world is Julia going?" she said. 

Lucan replied with a vague gesture and a smile. 

"I am sure, " rejoined Clotilde, "that she is going to drink at thatfountain, yonder. She was complaining a little while since of beingthirsty. Do follow her, dear, will you, and prevent her doing so. She isso warm! It might be fatal to her. Run, I beg of you. "

Monsieur de Lucan gave the reins to his horse, and he started like thewind. Julia had already disappeared under cover of the woods. He followedher track; but among the timber, the roots and the roughness of the groundsomewhat checked his speed. At a short distance, in the center of a narrowclearing, the labor of ages and the filtrations of the soil had hollowedout one of those mysterious fountains whose limpid water, moss-grownbanks, and aspect of deep solitude delight the imagination, and give riseto so many poetic legends. When Monsieur de Lucan was able once more tosee Julia, she had alighted from her horse. The admirably trained animalstood quietly two or three steps away, browsing the young foliage, whilehis mistress, down on her knees and stooping over the edge of the spring, was drinking from her hands. 

"Julia, I beg of you!" exclaimed Monsieur de Lucan in an imploring tone. 

She started to her feet with a sort of elastic spring, and greeted himgayly. 

"Too late, sir!" she said; "but I only drank a few drops, just a fewlittle wee drops, I assure you!"

"You must really be out of your mind!" said Lucan who was by this timequite close to her. 

"Do you think so?"

She was shaking her beautiful white hands, which had served her for adrinking-cup, and which seemed to throw off a shower of diamonds. 

"Give me your handkerchief!"

Lucan handed her his handkerchief. She wiped her hands gravely; then, asshe returned the handkerchief with her right hand, she raised herself ontiptoe and held her left hand up to the level of his face:

"There! now; don't scold any more!"

Lucan kissed the hand. 

"The other now, " she said again. "Please don't turn so pale, sir!"

Monsieur Lucan affected not to have heard these last words, and came downabruptly from his horse. 

"I must help you to mount, " he said, in a dry and harsh voice. 

She was putting on her gloves with downcast look. Suddenly raising herhead and looking at him with fixed gaze:

"What a miserable wretch I am, am I not?" she said. 

"No, " said Lucan; "but what an unhappy being!"

She leaned against one of the trees that shaded the spring, her headpartially thrown back and one hand over her eyes. 

"Come!" said Lucan. 

She obeyed, and he assisted her to get on her horse. They rode out of thewood without uttering another word, made their way to the road, and soonovertook the cavalcade. 

As soon as he had recovered from the anguish of that scene, Monsieur deLucan did not hesitate to think that the departure of Julia and of herhusband must be the immediate and inevitable consequence of it; but whenhe came to seek some means of bringing about their sudden departure, hismind became lost in difficulties that he could not solve. What motivecould he indeed offer to justify, in the eyes of Clotilde and of Monsieurde Moras, a determination so novel and so unexpected? It was now themiddle of August, and it had been agreed for a long time that the entirefamily should return to Paris on the first of September. The veryproximity of the time fixed upon for the general departure would onlyserve to make the pretext invoked to explain this sudden separation appearmore unlikely. It was almost impossible that it should not awaken in themind of Clotilde, and in that of the count, irreparable suspicions and alight fatal to the happiness of both. The remedy seemed indeed more to bedreaded than the evil itself; for, if the evil was great, it was at leastunknown to those whose lives and whose hearts it would have shattered, andit could still be hoped that it might remain so forever. Monsieur de Lucanthought for a moment of going away himself; but it was still moreimpossible to justify his departure than it was that of Julia's. 

All these reflections being made, he resolved to arm himself with patienceand courage. Once in Paris, separate dwellings, less frequent intercourse, the obligations of the world, and the activity of life, would doubtlessafford relief and then a peaceful solution to a painful and formidablesituation which it was henceforth impossible for him not to view in itstrue light. He relied upon himself, and also upon Julia's naturalgenerosity, for reaching without outburst and without rupture theapproaching term that was to put an end to their life in common and to itsincessant perils. It ought not to be impossible to endure, for the shortperiod of two weeks more, the threatenings of a storm that had beenbrewing for months without revealing its lightning. He was forgetting withwhat frightful rapidity the maladies of the soul, as well as those of thebody, after reaching slowly and gradually certain stages, suddenlyprecipitate their progress and their ravages. 

Monsieur de Lucan asked himself whether he should not inform Julia of theconduct he had resolved to follow, and of the reasons that had dictatedit; but every shadow of an explanation between them appeared to himeminently improper and dangerous. Their confidential understanding uponsuch a subject would have assumed an air of complicity which was repugnantto all his sentiments of honor. Despite the terrible light that hadflashed forth, there still remained between them something obscure, undecided, and unconfessed that he thought best to preserve at any cost. Far, therefore, from seeking opportunities for some private interview, heavoided them all from that moment with scrupulous care. Julia seemedpenetrated with the same feeling of reserve, and anxious to the samedegree as himself to avoid any tete-a-tete, while striving to saveappearances; but in that respect she did not dispose of that power ofdissimulation which Lucan owed to his natural and acquired firmness. Hewas able, without visible effort, to hide under his habitual air ofgravity the anxieties that consumed him. Julia did not succeed, without analmost convulsive restraint, in carrying with bold and smiling countenancethe burden of her thought. To the only witness who knew the secret of herstruggles, it was a poignant spectacle to behold the gracious and feverishanimation of which the unhappy child sustained the appearance with so muchdifficulty. He saw her sometimes at a distance, like an exhaustedcomedienne, retiring to some isolated bench in the garden, and fairlypanting with her hand pressing upon her bosom, as if to keep down herrebellious heart. He felt then, in spite of all, overcome with immensepity in presence of so much beauty and so much misery. 

Was it only pity?

The attitude, the words, the looks of Clotilde and of Julia's husband wereat the same time, for Monsieur de Lucan, the objects of constant anduneasy observation. Clotilde had evidently not conceived the slightestalarm. The gentle serenity of her features remained unaltered. A fewoddities, more or less, in Julia's ways did not constitute a sufficientnovelty to attract her particular attention. Her mind, moreover, was toofar away from the monstrous abysses yawning at her side; she might havestepped into them and been swallowed up, before she had suspected theirexistence. 

The blonde, placid, and handsome countenance of the Count de Morasretained at all times, like Lucan's dark face, a sort of sculpturalfirmness. It was, therefore, rather difficult to read upon it theimpressions of a soul which was naturally strong and self-controlling. Onone point, however, that soul had become weak. Monsieur de Lucan was notignorant of the fact; he was aware of the count's ardent love for Julia, and of the sickly susceptibility of his passion. 

It seemed unlikely that such a sentiment, if it were seriously set atdefiance, should not betray itself in some violent or at least perceptibleexterior sign. Monsieur de Lucan, in reality, was unable to observe any ofthese dreaded symptoms. If he did occasionally surprise a fugitive wrinkleon his brow, a doubtful intonation, a fugitive or absent glance, he mightbelieve at most in some return of that vague and chimerical jealousy withwhich he knew the count to have been long tormented. Besides, he saw himcarrying into their family circle the same impassive and smiling face, andhe continued to receive from him the same tokens of cordiality. Oppressed, nevertheless by his legitimate scruples of loyalty and friendship, he hadfor one moment the mad temptation of revealing to the count the trial thatwas imposed upon them; but while revealing his own heart, would not such adelicate and cruel confession break the heart of his friend? And, moreover, would not such a pretended act of loyalty, involving thebetrayal of a woman's secret, be tainted with cowardice and treason?

It was necessary, therefore, amid so many dangers and so much anxiety, tosustain alone, and to the end, the weight of that trial, more complicatedand more perilous still, perhaps, than Monsieur de Lucan was willing toadmit to himself. 

It was to come to an end much sooner than he could possibly haveanticipated. 

Clotilde and her husband, accompanied by Monsieur and Madame de Moras, went one day, in the carriage, to visit the ruins of a covered gallerywhich is one of the rarest of druidical antiquities in the country. Theseruins lay at the back of a picturesque little bay, scooped out in therocky wall that borders the eastern shore of the peninsula. Theirshapeless masses are strewn over one of those grass-clad spurs that extendhere and there to the foot of the cliff like giant buttresses. They arereached, despite the steepness of the hill, by an easy winding road thatleads, with long, meandering turns, down to the yellow, sandy beach of thelittle bay. Clotilde and Julia made a sketch of the old Celtic templewhile the gentlemen were smoking; then they amused themselves for sometime watching the rising waves spreading upon the sand its fringes offoam. It was agreed to return to the top of the hill on foot in order torelieve the horses. 

The carriage, on a sign from Lucan, started ahead. Clotilde took the armof Monsieur de Moras, and they began ascending slowly the sinuous road. Lucan was waiting Julia's good pleasure before following them; she hadremained a few steps aside, engaged in animated conversation with an oldfisherman who was busy setting his bait in the hollow of the rocks. Sheturned toward Lucan, and slightly raising her voice:

"He says there is another path, much shorter and quite easy, close byhere, along the face of the cliff. I am strongly inclined to take it andavoid that tiresome road. "

"Believe me, do nothing of the kind, " said Lucan; "what is a very easypath for the country people may prove a very arduous one for you and evenfor me. "

After further conference with the fisherman:

"He says, " rejoined Julia, "that there is really no danger, and thatchildren go up and down that way every day. He is going to guide me to thefoot of the path, and then I'll only have to go straight up. Tell motherI'll be up there as soon as you all are. "

"Your mother will be dreadfully anxious. "

"Tell her there is no danger. "

Lucan, giving up the attempt to resist any longer a fancy that was growingimpatient, went up to the footman who carried Julia's album and shawl; herequested him to reassure Clotilde and Monsieur de Moras, who had alreadydisappeared behind one of the angles of the road; then returned to Julia. 

"Whenever you are ready, " he said. 

"You are coming with me?"

"As a matter of course. "

The old fisherman preceded them, following close to the foot of thecliffs. After leaving the sandy beach of the bay, the shore was coveredwith angular rocks and gigantic fragments of granite that made walkingextremely painful. Although the distance was very short, they were alreadybreaking down with fatigue when they reached the entrance to the path, which appeared to Lucan, and perhaps to Julia herself, much less safe andcommodious than the fisherman had pretended. Neither one nor the other, however, attempted to make any objection. After a few last recommendationsand directions, their old guide withdrew, quite pleased with Lucan'sgenerosity. Both began then resolutely to scale the cliff which, at thispoint of the coast, is known as the cliff of Jobourg, and rises some threehundred feet above the level of the ocean. 

At the beginning of this ascension, they broke the silence they hadhitherto maintained, in order to exchange some jesting remarks upon thecharms and comforts of this goat's-path; but the real and even alarmingdifficulties of the road soon proved sufficient to absorb their entireattention. The faintly beaten path disappeared at times on the barrenrock, or under some recent land-slide. They had much trouble finding thebroken thread again. Their feet hesitated upon the polished surface of thestone, or the short and slippery grass. There were moments when they feltas if they stood upon an almost vertical slope, and if they attempted tostop and take breath, the vast spaces stretching before them, theboundless extent, the dazzling and metallic brilliancy of the sea, causedthem a sensation of dizziness and as of a floating motion. Though the skywas low and cloudy, a heavy and storm-laden heat weighed upon them andstimulated the action of their blood. Lucan walked first, with a sort offeverish excitement, turning around from time to time to cast a glance atJulia, who followed him closely, then looking up to see someresting-point, some platform upon which they might breathe for a moment insafety. But above him, as below, there was naught save the perpendicularand sometimes overhanging cliff. Suddenly Julia called out to him in atone of anguish:

"Monsieur! monsieur! please, oh! please--my head is whirling!"

He walked rapidly back a few steps at the risk of tumbling down, and, grasping her hand energetically:

"Come! come!" he said, with a smile, "what is the matter?--a brave personlike you!"

"It would require wings!" she said, faintly. 

Lucan began at once to climb the path again, supporting and almostdragging Julia, who had nearly fainted. 

He had at last the gratification of setting his foot upon a projection ofthe ground, a sort of narrow esplanade jutting from the rock. He succeededin drawing Julia upon it. But she sank at once in his arms, and her headrested upon his chest. He could hear her arteries and her heart throbbingwith frightful force. Then, gradually, her agitation subsided. She liftedher head gently, opened her long eyelashes, and looking at him withrapturous eyes:

"I am so happy!" she murmured; "I wish I could die so!"

Lucan pushed her off from him the length of his arm, then, suddenlyseizing her again and clasping her tightly to his heart, he cast upon hera troubled glance, and then another upon the abyss. She certainly thoughtthey were about to die. A slight tremor passed across her lips; shesmiled; her head half rolled back:

"With you?" she said--"what happiness!"

At the same moment, the sound of voices was heard a short distance abovethem. Lucan recognized Clotilde's and the count's voices. His arm suddenlyrelaxed and dropped from Julia's waist. He pointed out to her, withoutspeaking, but with an imperious gesture, the path that wound around therock. 

"Without you, then!" she said, in a gentle and proud tone. And she beganascending. 

Two minutes later, they reached the plateau above the cliff, and relatedto Clotilde the perils of their ascension, which explained sufficientlytheir evident agitation. At least they thought so. 

During the evening of this same day, Julia, Monsieur de Moras, andClotilde were walking after dinner under the evergreens of the garden. Monsieur de Lucan, after keeping them company for a short time, had justretired, under pretense of writing some letters. He remained, however, buta few minutes in the library, where the sound of the others' voicesreached his ears and disturbed his attention. A desire for absolutesolitude, for meditation, perhaps also some whimsical and unaccountablefeeling, led him to that very ladies' walk stamped for him with such anindelible recollection. 

He walked slowly through it for some time, in the deepening shades withwhich the falling night was rapidly filling it. He wished to consult hissoul, as it were, face to face, to probe like a man his mind to its utmostdepths. What he discovered there terrified him. It was a mad intoxication, which the savor of crime further heightened. Duty, loyalty, honor, allthat rose before his passion to oppose it only exasperated its fury. Thepagan Venus was gnawing at his heart, and instilling her most subtlepoisons into it. The image of the fatal beauty was there without truce, present in his burning brain, before his dazzled eyes; he inhaled withavidity and in spite of himself, its languor, its perfume, its breath. 

The sound of light footsteps upon the sand caused him to suspend hismarch. He caught through the darkness a glimpse of a white formapproaching him. 

It was she!

Without giving scarce a thought to the act, he threw himself behind theobscure angle formed by one of those massive pillars that supported theruins against the side of the hill. A mass of verdure made the darknessthere more dense still. She went by, her eyes fixed upon the ground, withher supple and rhythmical step. She walked as far as the little pond thatreceived the waters of the brook, stood dreaming for a few moments uponits edge, and then returned. A second tune she went by the ruins, withoutraising her eyes, and as if deeply absorbed. Lucan remained convinced thatshe had not suspected his presence, when suddenly she turned her headslightly around, without interrupting her march, and she cast behind herthat single word, "Farewell, " in a tone so gentle, so musical, sosorrowful, that it was somewhat like the sound of a tear falling upon asonorous crystal. 

That minute was a supreme one. It was one of those moments during which aman's life is decided for eternal good or for eternal evil. Monsieur deLucan felt it so. Had he yielded to the attraction of passion, ofintoxication, of pity, that was urging him with almost irresistible forceon the footsteps of that beautiful and unhappy woman--that was on thepoint of casting him at her feet, upon her heart--he felt that he becameat once and forever a lost and desperate soul. Such a crime, were it evento remain wholly ignored, separated him forever from all he had everrespected, all he had ever held sacred and inviolate; there was nothingleft for him either upon earth or in heaven; there was no longer anyfaith, probity, honor, friend, or God! The whole moral world vanished forhim in that single instant. 

He accepted her farewell, and made no reply. The white form moved away andsoon disappeared in the darkness. 

The evening was spent in the home circle as usual. Julia, pale, moody, andhaughty, worked silently at her tapestry. Lucan observed that on takingleave of her mother she was kissing her with unusual effusion. 

He soon retired also. Assailed by the most formidable apprehensions, hedid not undress. Toward morning only, he threw himself all dressed uponthe bed. It was about five o'clock, and scarcely daylight as yet, when hefancied he heard muffled steps on the carpet, in the hall and on thestairs. He rose again at once. The windows of his room opened upon thecourt. He saw Julia cross it, dressed in riding costume. She went into thestable and came out again after a few moments. A groom brought her herhorse, and assisted her in mounting. The man, accustomed to Julia'ssomewhat eccentric manners, saw apparently nothing alarming in that fancyfor an early ride. Monsieur de Lucan, after a few minutes of excitedthought, took his resolution. He directed his steps toward the room of theCount de Moras. To his extreme surprise, he found him up and dressed. Thecount, seeing Lucan coming in, seemed struck with astonishment. Hefastened upon him a penetrating and visibly agitated look. 

"What is the matter?" he said, at last, in a low and tremulous voice. 

"Nothing serious, I hope, " replied Lucan. "Nevertheless, I am uneasy. Julia has just gone out on horseback. You have, doubtless, seen and heardher as I have myself, since you are up. "

"Yes, " said Moras, who had continued to gaze upon Lucan with an expressionof indescribable stupor; "yes, " he repeated, recovering himself, notwithout difficulty, "and I am glad, really very glad to see you, my dearfriend. "

While uttering these simple words, the voice of Moras became hesitating; adamp cloud obscured his eyes. 

"Where can she be going at this hour?" he resumed with his usual firmnessof speech. 

"I do not know; merely some new fancy, I suppose. At any rate, she hasseemed to me lately more strange, more moody, and I feel uneasy. Let ustry and follow her, if you like. "

"Let us go, my friend, " said the count after a pause of singularhesitation. 

They both left the chateau together, taking their fowling-pieces withthem, in order to induce the belief that they were going, according to aquite frequent habit, to shoot sea-birds. At the moment of selecting adirection, Monsieur de Moras turned to Lucan with an inquiring glance. 

"I see no danger, " said Lucan, "save in the direction of the cliffs. A fewwords that escaped her yesterday lead me to fear that the peril may bethere; but with her horse, she is compelled to make a long detour. Bycutting across the woods, we'll be there ahead of her. "

They entered the timber to the west of the chateau, and walked in silenceand with rapid steps. 

The path they had taken led them directly to the plateau overlooking thecliffs they had visited the previous day. The woods extended in thatdirection in an irregular triangle, the last trees of which almost touchedthe very brink of the cliff. 

As they were approaching with feverish steps that extreme point, Lucansuddenly stopped. 

"Listen!" he said. 

The sound of a horse's gallop upon the hard soil could be distinctlyheard. They ran. 

A sloping bank of moderate elevation divided the wood from the plateau. This they climbed half way with the help of trailing branches; screenedthen by the bushes and the foliage, they beheld before them a mostimpressive spectacle. At a short distance to the left, Julia was coming onat break-neck speed; she was following the oblique line of the woods, apparently shaping her course straight toward the edge of the cliff. Theythought at first that her horse had run away, but they saw that she waslashing him with her whip to further accelerate his speed. 

She was still some hundred paces from the two men, and she was aboutpassing before them. Lucan was preparing to leap to the other side of thebank, when the hand of Monsieur de Moras fell violently upon his arm andheld him back--firmly. 

They looked at each other. Lucan was amazed at the profound alterationthat had suddenly contracted the count's features and sunken his eyes; heread at the same time in his fixed gaze an immense sorrow, but also animmovable resolve. He understood that there was no longer any secretbetween them. He yielded to that glance, which, so far as he wasconcerned--he felt sure of that--conveyed nothing but an expression ofconfidence and friendly supplication. He grasped his friend's hand withinhis own and remained motionless. The horse shot by within a few steps ofthem, his flanks white with foam, while Julia, beautiful, graceful, andcharming still in that terrible moment, sat lightly upon the saddle. 

Within a few feet of the edge of the cliff, the horse, scenting thedanger, shied violently and wheeled around in a semi-circle. She led himback upon the plateau, and, urging him both with whip and voice, shestarted him again toward the yawning chasm. 

Lucan felt Monsieur de Moras' nails cutting into his flesh. At last thehorse was conquered; the ground gave way under his hind feet, which onlymet the vacant space. He fell backward; his fore legs pawed the airconvulsively. 

The next moment the plateau was empty. No sound had been heard. In thatdeep chasm the fall had been noiseless and death instantaneous. 

[THE END. ]

THE STORY OF A FIGHT FOR A THRONE

D'Artagnan, the King Maker

By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. 

Written originally by Dumas as a play, and now for thefirst time novelized and translated into English. 

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A HERO OF THE SWORD. 

The King's Gallant

By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. 

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THE STORY OF A HOPELESS LOVE. 

Tons of Treasure

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_Author of_ "DETMOLD. "

When two women love one man there isusually trouble brewing. Nor is the storywhich Mr. Bishop has to tell an exception. His hero is a manly New Yorker, who is firedwith a zeal to "make good" a defalcationaccredited to his dead father. 

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A BOOK FULL OF 'HUMAN' INTEREST

QUEER PEOPLE

By WILLIAM HENRY BISHOP. 

_Author of_ "DETMOLD. "

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A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES. 

Among the Freaks

By W. L. ALDEN. 

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Things Generally

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Toothsome Tales Told in Slang

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EERIE TALES OF "CHINATOWN. "

Bits of Broken China

By WILLIAM E. S. FALES

A collection of captivating novelettes dealingwith life in New York's "Chinatown. "

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THE GAME OF THE HOUR. 

ABC OF BRIDGE

By ELEANOR A. TENNANT. 

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THE CREAM OF JUVENILE FICTION

Boys' Own Library

A SELECTION OF THE BEST BOOKS WRITTENBY THE MOST POPULAR AUTHORS FOR BOYS. 

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